The High Cost of Being Normal
by RaisingAmara
Summary: After his father instigates a particularly brutal sparring session one evening, Sam is forced to run for his life. Dean's determined to get his little brother back safely, but when he finally catches up, the younger boy is hurt far worse than Dean could ever have imagined.
1. Chapter 1

Sam climbed excitedly into the front seat of the old Impala and plopped his backpack down beside him on the spacious front seat. "Hey, Dean! Guess what!" He breathed, eyes big like saucers.

"Not in the mood for guessing games, Sam." Dean growled.

Sam missed the warning. "Mr. Watts says my project on wind-powered turbines is one of the best he's ever seen. He thinks I can win the science fair next week! Hey, you'll come, right? The competition is next Wednesday night."

Dean glanced over, nodding. "Course I will."

Sam settled back, grinning. "Good. Cause if I win I might get a …"

"Dad's home, and he's pissed, Sam." Dean cut in grimly.

Sam halted mid-sentence, looking perplexed. "Hunh? Why?"

Dean sighed. "That hunt two nights ago."

Sam stared, "What about it?"

Dean looked sharply over at his younger brother, "That vamp that you let get the drop on you? The way you almost died? Any of this ringing a bell?"

"I didn't let him get the drop on me; he just did." Sam complained. "I told Dad my knee was still bugging me before he ever sent me in, Dean. The vamp saw it right away. That's why he went after my left side. And anyway, I got out of it, so what's the big deal? Nobody else was inconvenienced."

"You were daydreaming about that damned science fair and you know it." Dean glared. "I looked over at you just before the door opened. You weren't even in the damned room."

Sam was silent for a moment, then spoke up. "So what? Now I get punished?"

"I'd say it might help you remember to pay attention next time, wouldn't you?"

"So you agree with Dad?"

Dean looked over at his little brother. "This time? Yes. You could have died, Sam!"

Sam muttered under his breath and turned to stare out the window.

"You got something you wanna say?"

"I said, 'like it would matter!'" the younger boy exploded.

"What? If you died? Hell, yeah, It would matter, Sam. What the hell?"

Sam stared over at him. "You get more like him every day, you know."

Dean flushed, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Sam mocked him, "You got something you wanna say? Come on, Dean. Tack the word 'boy' onto that sentence and you could BE Dad."

Dean shook his head. "You're being pissy and you know it. We're just worried about you. You know better."

Sam sighed, "Well, I'm too old to spank anymore, so what's the deal?"

Dean was silent a moment, then he spoke up reluctantly, "Sparring."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Great."

"Yeah, great. Dad's says he going to watch, and if I go easy on you, he's gonna step in. I can't hold anything back, or it'll just go harder on you." Dean looked away, hating his own words.

Sam stared. "Dean, I can't beat you on a good day, let alone with a bum knee."

"Well, you better step up your game tonight, Sammy. Cause there ain't no talking Dad out of it. You think I didn't spend all day trying?"

Sam scrunched down in his seat, unconsciously trying to make himself smaller, "Terrific. I love getting the shit beat out of me just for fun." He stared out the window, swallowing hard.

Dean tried not to notice how miserable his little brother looked just then and opted instead to change the subject. "So this science fair, what's the prize again?"

Sam shrugged disinterestedly, "Doesn't matter. I won't be able to go anyway, not beat to hell and back."

"Sammy …"

"You know the drill, Dean. You don't go to school til the bruises heal. Someone might ask questions. Guess I should just plan now to take the rest of the week off. I can hang with Dad all week. We can bond." Sam snorted derisively.

Dean looked away, knowing Sam spoke the truth and feeling lower than a skinwalker's belly. He sighed. "I can tag out, Sammy. Let Dad do it. But I don't think you want that."

"Whatever, Dean. Do what you want." Sam sniped, pissed. "It's not gonna matter one way or the other."

"Fine. Maybe I will. Maybe I'll go grab a few beers and let Dad handle it, then."

"Fine." Sam agreed, falling silent as they pulled up to the old house that was acting as their base of operations for the next few weeks. The only thing the house had going for it was its location - secluded, yet right off the busy main road. It was an easy drive to and from town, but the house itself pretty much reeked.

Dean cut the engine and dove for the door, wanting to be anywhere but next to the kid he was supposed to beat up sometime before the night was out. He strode purposefully into the house and up the rickety stairs, slamming their bedroom door behind him.

Sam followed more slowly, each step feeling like his last. And when he crossed the threshold of the front door and entered the decrepit living room, an arm snaked around his throat and pressed a knife there. Sam froze instantly, not expecting Dean to involve knife play, but when the voice in his ear asked him what he was planning to do, Sam made himself go limp. He refused to fight with his dad, at least not physically, knowing what the older man was capable of.

"I'm not fighting you, Dad." He refused, dropping his backpack to the floor with a thud.

"I'm not your dad right now, Sam. Right now I'm an attacker who's planning to kill you and then go after your brother. What do you do?"

Sam sighed. "Not doing this." he stated flatly.

"Maybe if you'd paid a little more attention before you stepped through the door, you wouldn't be in this situation. You think?"

"Honestly? I think I was screwed before I ever got out of bed today."

John tightened his grip around Sam's neck, cutting off the boy's air supply. Still Sam refused to cooperate. "Feel that, Sam? That's life leaving you. You just going to stand there?"

Sam couldn't speak so he just nodded, his vision getting fuzzy. But suddenly John relented, realizing that Sam wasn't going to fight back. He growled angrily and held the knife up in front of Sam where he could see it. It was one of Dean's and Sam knew it was razor sharp. Dean took exquisite care of only three things - his car, his weapons, and his … no, Sam wasn't going there. Not after this night. He squirmed, the first niggle of fear biting down.

"Dad. Cut it out." He pleaded.

"What am I cutting out, Sam? Your heart? Your kidney? You think a monster is going to care that you're pleading for your life? Maybe I was planning to cut out your heart and then move onto your brother's? Now will you fight?"

Sam shook his head. "Not fighting you, Dad." He willed his tense body to go slack.

"Then I guess this is what we call a teaching moment, Sam. " And John pressed the blade down onto the sensitive skin beneath Sam's collarbone and released a thin line of blood just as Dean trampled down the steps and froze, horrified at the sight of Sam caught in a choke hold with blood leaking from his chest.

"Dad! What the hell!" Dean started toward them, shocked eyes locked on Sam's.

"Dean! Hel …" Sam got out before his father's arm grew tight against his windpipe once again. And the last thing he heard before the world went dim was his father explaining what a disappointment he was.


	2. Where the Pain Begins

Sam came to with his brother's warm hands on his chest and his angry voice in his ear.

"You awake, Sammy?" Dean's face swam before his eyes, concerned, yet looking as pissed as Sam had ever seen him.

Sam tried to remember why he was lying on the floor of the living room and why his chest hurt so badly. Suddenly, it all came rushing back.

"Dean!" He cried, frantic hands trying to find purchase in the front of his brother's shirt. "Dean, get me out … out of here. Please?"

Dean wasn't moving. He was holding Sam down, in fact, and it caused a wave of panic to swell over the younger boy until he realized that Dean was just putting pressure on his wound.

"Dammit, Sam. Couldn't you fight back just a little? Just enough to make it look like you gave a damn?" Dean growled, and Sam's heart sank a little at the tone.

"N-no. Not gonna fight Dad. Can't win." he focused on breathing through the stars that still circled round his head.

"Yeah, well. It only gets worse from here." Dean grimaced. "This was nothing."

Sam stared up at his brother, eyes filled with fear. "What … what are you talking about? What's happening?"

"Dad is outside warming up. That's what's happening. He's gonna make you take us both on. Together. Why couldn't you have just given him what he wanted?" Dean carefully cleaned Sam's wound and placed a clean piece of gauze over it, taping it in place.

Sam felt like he was going to vomit. He knew how this was going to end and it wasn't good. He was desperate. "Dean, please." He pleaded, "Can you … can you help me?"

Dean's eyes fell closed at the plea. Dammit, he hated this. But he shook his head. "Can't do it little brother. No way Dad is letting either of us off the hook now. You need to start helping yourself a bit, Sam." He ended angrily, scared at what he knew was probably about to happen. "You think I want this? Well, I don't, Sam. I can think of a thousand other things I'd rather do tonight than gang up with my father against my injured little brother and beat the crap out of him." Dean looked away, blinking rapidly.

Sam got angry then. Dean was just like their dad, more and more by the day. It would never occur to him to just say no. Dean was a soldier in his father's army of three, and Sam swore that if Dad someday came to his brother and told him to kill Sam, he'd probably do it, no questions asked. He pushed the gentle hands away and struggled to his feet.

"Let's get this over with, then." He growled. "Nothing like a good beating to make you feel the love." He stumbled over to the door, catching hold of the frame to keep from falling. Damn, his head felt like it was full of jelly, and he was having a hard time focusing his eyes.

Dean moved to catch him, "Sammy …"

But Sam shrugged him off. "Better save your strength for the beat-down session." He warned, staggering outside. He could see his father down by the big maple tree at the end of the yard. Of course it would happen there, right by the busy road where everyone passing by could witness his humiliation. He snorted, shaking his head. If Dad was anything, it was predictable.

Sam made his way down to his father with Dean trailing along behind like he was just waiting for Sam to collapse. But the younger boy was strangely calm suddenly. He sort of felt like he was walking his last mile. He realized now that he'd been on the losing end of this day before it ever got started, and he tried not to think about all the work he'd done on the turbine project and the pride that had been present in Mr. Watts' voice when he'd looked it over. Maybe, if Sam could focus on the one good thing that had happened this day, instead of on the disaster that loomed, he'd get through it easier. He approached the tree and shrugged out of the overshirt that still hung loose on his shoulders. He kicked off both socks and boots, knowing this was the uniform his father required when they sparred - just a tee shirt and jeans or sweats - no shirts or shoes to get in the way.

Sam took up his stance across from his father and brother and waited.

"I hope you realize that neither of us want to do this, boy." John tried to rationalize. "This is on you and your refusal to take the steps necessary to save your life. Nobody here wants to see you die, Sam. You get that?"

Sam remained silent, glaring at the man he didn't think he would ever call Dad again, as John sighed.

"Fine, then. This is how it's going to go. Nobody here is going to take it easy on you, Sam. Dean and I are going to fight just as hard as we would against a wendigo or a shifter, so you'd do well to stay focused and remember what we taught you.

Sam thought it would probably be easier to focus if hadn't just been choked unconscious, but he kept that to himself and tensed when his father motioned for Dean to move around behind him. Sam had never squared off against both Winchesters before, let alone at full strength, and he was pretty sure this was going to be a short session. Then he saw his dad nod, and he tensed for the blows that he knew were coming.

Sam tried his best to keep both enemies in at least his peripheral vision, but Dean was like a damn snake, slithering off behind him at every opportunity. He felt, rather than saw, his brother move in, and Sam blocked the punch before it could connect with his head. But before he could throw a return jab, John kicked him in the back of his bad knee and he went down hard. Rolling hard to the right, he stifled the cry of pain that tried to escape and just narrowly avoided John's heel as it aimed for his ribs. He used his momentum to raise himself back onto his good leg and went down again as Dean's fist connected solidly with his face.

"Sorry, Sammy." Dean apologized as he backed off, giving Sam a moment to gather himself. But John had no such intentions. He stepped up to Sam as he lay flat on his back and aimed another kick at his ribs. But Sam grabbed his father's bare foot in both hands and twisted, effectively wrenching the older man off his feet. Sam rolled again then and raised back up to whirl on Dean, but the older boy wasn't where he expected him to be. Instead, he was behind him again, and when Sam ducked and whirled, Dean had anticipated his reaction, and his punch caught Sam squarely in the nose, blood flying.

"Shit, Sam!" Dean cursed, backing off, but Sam used the pain to ignite his fury, just like his father had taught him, and he rushed Dean, crashing into him at full speed and bringing them both to the ground. Sam heard the air leave his brother in a sharp 'whuff', and then he was back on his feet and circling his father.

John's eyes glittered dark and dangerous at his youngest son as the boy teetered unsteadily on one good leg, and then he moved in for the kill. John barreled straight at Sam, colliding hard enough to knock them both into the massive trunk of the ancient maple, and Sam screamed as the bone in his arm broke.

"Dad!" Dean yelled, horrified, as he heard the snap, but John wasn't done. He took advantage of Sam's sudden pain to rain a flurry of blows into his face, and when he was done, Sam sank silently to his knees, one arm bracing him on the ground, the other held protectively to his side. John backed off then, anticipating the end of the session, but Sam sneered through his pain and raised back up on his feet.

"Sammy! Stay down!" Dean warned, attracting his brother's attention and making him whirl toward the older boy.

Dean backed off immediately, both hands up, horrified at the condition of his brother's face. "It's over, Sammy. Stay down!"

But John disagreed. "He's up, Dean. He's fair game!" He shouted. "End this or I will!"

"Sammy, don't!" Dean pleaded, as the boy advanced. But Sam was either beyond hearing or beyond caring as he took a feeble swing at his brother and missed completely. And when the follow-through of the swing brought him around in a 180, John was waiting. He took advantage of Sam's unbalanced stance to leg-sweep him, and the boy hit the ground flat on his back, the wind driven from his lungs, and everyone present heard the crack of the rib as it separated.

Sam wanted to get back up. They'd wanted a punching bag, he was damn well going to give them one, but his world had narrowed down to just a tunnel of blue sky edged by a circle of gray. He struggled to catch a single breath, but none were forthcoming, and he honestly thought this was it. He was going to die here under his favorite tree on a day when the sky was azure blue and littered with white, puffy clouds. He'd often dreamed about spending a day just like today stretched out comfortably under the towering old maple, just reading and dreaming.

This just wasn't quite how he had pictured it.


	3. The Kindness of Strangers

Sam could only hear words, not sentences. And even those filtered down to him muffled, as though he was at the bottom of a sea, trying to hear the conversations of the people in the boat miles above him.

He heard Dean, could tell he was angry. " … can't leave him out here …"

Then his father, just sounding … cold. "... best I could do, never good enough …"

"Not doing, it, Dad. He needs help."

"Better start listening to me, boy …"

"Broke his fucking arm …" That one sounded pissed.

" ... suck it up, and come inside. Give him time."

" … can't. Can't fucking breathe, Dad? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Sounds of a struggle. Sam was pretty sure that was Dean being pulled forcibly away and dragged across the yard. He couldn't move his head to look though. It was too painful. At least he could breathe again. So there was that, anyway.

Sam didn't know how long he lay beneath the tree, trying to make sense of what was happening before he heard the rumble of the Impala roar to life and tear off past him onto the main road. Sam managed to turn his head to the left then, waiting to see if Dean would emerge from the house and come to help him.

But whatever Dad had threatened his brother with, it must have been scary as hell, because Sam could see Dean standing in the window watching him.

"Like a good little soldier," Sam thought bitterly, and was suddenly overwhelmed with hatred for his father and even Dean - the two who'd beaten him so soundly and then just left him to stew in his own agony.

Because agony it was. Sam could feel his heart thumping madly in his broken arm, and his chest and face felt like a semi had landed on them from 30 feet up. But he struggled to his feet anyway, timing his movements.

He could hear the car on the road about a quarter-mile away, and knowing he was no match for Dean in his current state, Sam waited until the car was almost upon him before stepping out into the road directly into its path. He heard the screen door bang open then. And as the vehicle approached and the driver slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting him, Sam heard Dean scream his name. Dean was moving fast, but Sam was powered by desperation. He moved to the passenger side of the old pickup and yanked open the door.

"Please!" He pleaded with the man driving. "Please, I need help! I need to … to get away!"

The man took in the boy's broken and bleeding face, bare feet, and the assortment of bruises that littered his body and made an instant decision. "Get in." He nodded, pulling the boy in and peeling out. The passenger door slammed shut and Sam hit the lock just as Dean made it to Sam's window, banging on the glass and screaming his name.

But the grizzled trucker had seen worse in his day, and he kept his composure, accelerating calmly away from the threat and glancing back once to see the boy's pursuer standing barefoot in the road, looking … scared.

He looked over to the boy where he sat also studying the figure in the rear view mirror. The boy was shaking like a leaf and held what the man was pretty sure was a broken arm close to his side.

"Who was that, son?" He asked gently.

Sam started and looked over. "My brother." He said softly, like he didn't quite believe it.

"He do this to you?"

Sam just stared without answering. He looked over, "Is … is there a shelter in town?"

The man nodded. "There is, but I don't know that they take in males. I think it's mainly for abused women and kids. How old are you, son?"

"I'm 18." Sam lied, not wanting to spend the night with CPS.

The man nodded. "I'm not sure they can help you, then. I'm sorry."

Sam nodded, struck with a idea. "Maybe a bridge or something? Someplace I can stay dry until morning?" It was already starting to rain.

The man smiled. "I'm not leaving you under some bridge in this condition." He said. "Tell you what. I know the lady who runs the shelter. Let me stop in and talk with her and we'll take it from there, okay? I'm assuming a hospital is out of the question?"

Sam nodded.

"Okay then," the man agreed. "You wait here?" He pulled up next to a nondescript yellow house on the edge of town. "I'll be right back."

###

The man greeted the petite brunette who answered his knock. "Hi Lily." He smiled.

"Well, Rick! What brings you out this way?" She smiled pleasantly.

"Hey, uh, I got a kid out in the truck beat to hell and gone. Pretty sure his arm's busted and maybe some ribs too. Says he's 18, but I'm not buying it. He asked if there was a shelter in town. He needs help, Lily."

She bit her lip. "If he really is of age, Rick, I don't know what we can do for him here."

"Just come take a look, Lily. please? Kid stepped right out into traffic to get away from his brother. I almost ran him over. He was just that desperate."

She hesitated.

"Please?" Rick grinned, piling on the charm.

She smiled then. "Sure, let me grab my shoes, and I'll be right out."

"Shoes." Rick repeated, looking at Lily. "Kid's not wearing any shoes."

Her eyes watered. "I'll be right out. I promise."

Rick nodded and stepped back. He returned to the truck and gestured for Sam to roll his window down. "Lady that runs the place will be right out. What's your name by the way?"

"Sam!" Lily answered for him, taking in the boy's battered face. She almost didn't recognize him.

Sam's eyes widened, "Oh! Miss Moone!"

"Sam." she breathed, opening his door and taking in the bloody shirt, the missing shoes and the vast assortment of bruises that peppered his arms and legs. "What happened to you? Who … who did this to you?" She was suddenly so angry, she could barely speak. She could barely reconcile this battered and beaten boy with the super-smart, shy student from her English class.

Sam pulled back. "Oh, I didn't … I didn't know it would be you." He stammered. "I don't wanna get you involved." Miss Moone was Sam's favorite teacher next to Mr. Watts. And he died a little inside thinking about this petite, friendly woman running up against John Winchester. "I'll just go." He tried to climb down from the truck, but when he put weight on his injured leg, it collapsed under him, and he would have gone down if the man who drove him to this place hadn't caught him firmly.

Sam!" Miss Moone gasped. "Let's get you off the street. Come on." She wrapped an arm around his waist from the other side and apologized when he winced and tried to pull away.

"No, Miss Moone, you … you don't understand. My … my father's going to be real angry when he realizes that I left. He'll … he'll come looking. I should go. I don't want to cause … cause trouble for you."

The two adults exchanged telling looks, suddenly understanding what had happened to this poor boy. The trucker spoke up. "Maybe I should stick around a bit?" He asked Lily. "Pretty sure nobody followed us here, but might be a good idea just in case?"

Lily nodded nervously. "Maybe park the truck around back after we get him inside?" She suggested.

Rick shook his head. "I'll take her home and park her in the garage for awhile. Drive the old Ford around, just in case."

Lily nodded as they helped Sam inside and got him settled on an aging recliner.

"Now Sam, can you breathe okay?" She asked him, concern coloring her delicate features.

Sam nodded. "Yes, I'm … I'm fine. Just need a … somewhere to s-stay tonight?" He asked hopefully.

She looked him in the eye, "You think I'd send you back there? Back to your father, after he did this?" Her eyes overflowed and a tear leaked out. "And you're far from fine, but we're going to remedy that. Now just rest here for a moment." She fetched a soft blanket from the closet and spread it over him to still his shivering. "Be right back, okay?" She moved to the kitchen and picked up her phone.

"I'm gonna go switch out vehicles, and I'll be right back, Lily. I'll sit outside tonight and keep watch. Just to make sure no trouble comes your way."

Lily reached over and hugged him. "Thank you, Rick. That's so kind of you. It's just, Sam is … well, he's one of my favorite students. Sharp as a tack. He so doesn't deserve this kind of treatment."


	4. A Brother's Betrayal

Dean was pretty sure his world had just ended.

Sam was afraid of him. Sammy. The boy he'd practically raised from infancy, the kid he'd fight til his last breath to protect, the boy who, until today, had idolized him - that kid was gone. He'd been replaced with a sad, beaten, fearful Sam who blamed Dean for not protecting him from their father and who probably blamed Dean for most of the bruises on his face and on his heart.

And he hadn't just been trying to make a point by getting in that truck either. Dean had caught a glimpse of Sam's face as he struggled to lock the door before Dean could reach it.

It had straight-up fear written all over it.

Sam was so scared of his big brother that he'd chosen to climb into a stranger's car and drive off instead of spending one more minute with him.

And why shouldn't he be?

" _You get more like him every day, you know."_

" _Come on, Dean. Tack the word, "boy" onto that sentence, and you could BE Dad."_

Suddenly, Dean could see it. He WAS turning into his father. If someone had told him a year ago that he'd stand in his own front yard and tag team his little brother by beating him into submission with Dad's twisted rules, he'd have ended them right there.

What the hell had he become?

Sam didn't want any of this. He hadn't asked for that beating. Hell, he hadn't even done anything to deserve it. All he'd done was accept Dad's order to enter into a hunt with a bum leg - against his better judgment - and let himself get a little distracted. He'd still taken out the vamp, so what was the big deal? No harm, no foul. They should have congratulated the kid. But did they?

No. They'd ganged up on him and beaten the snot out of him and then left him lying practically unconscious in the grass. Dean knew that Sam had heard the Impala pull away. He knew Dean was in the house alone, that he was free to help him. What he didn't know was that Dad had threatened to schedule the same session every night for a solid week if Dean went anywhere near his brother. He'd wanted Sam to suck it up and come inside the house under his own steam, like a Winchester, he'd said.

But that had been a mistake, Dean now realized. Sam had seen him standing in the window, doing nothing, and that was probably when he'd made his decision to run. What kind of brother didn't lift a hand to help when the other was down and bleeding? What kind of man - and that thought really hurt - let his father cowl him into abusing and then neglecting his baby brother? And what did that say about that man's character? It didn't matter that Dad always used threats aimed at Sam to keep Dean in line. Dean should have manned up and stopped this whole thing from happening.

Dean wondered at exactly what point he'd lost his balls.

Exactly when had he decided that standing up to Dad was more of a hassle than protecting Sam? Exactly when had he become more interested in gaining Dad's approval than keeping Sam's trust?

The older boy stood barefoot and bare-chested in the road in the rain and rewound the tape in his mind - Sam climbing into the Impala after school, all light and happiness, all excitement and pride. He'd won someone's approval - his teacher's - and he wanted to make sure Dean was going to be there to share his happy moment. God knew approval came few and far between for the Winchester boys.

He'd wanted - hell, he'd needed - Dean's approval too.

But had he gotten it?

Dean thought back.

" _He thinks I can win the science fair next week! Hey, you'll come, right?"_

" _Dad's home, and he's pissed, Sam."_

" _So what? Now I get punished?"_

" _I'd say it might help you remember to pay attention next time, wouldn't you?"_

" _So you agree with Dad?"_

" _This time? Yes."_

Nope. No approval there. Just a threat of bad things to come and the affirmation that Dean was on board with all of it.

Dean stepped back into the driveway when a passing car honked and swerved, nearly hitting him, and he thought about the stranger that Sam had flagged down. His brother's voice had carried. He'd been desperate and crying.

" _Please! I need help! I need to … to get away!"_

What if the man behind the wheel was a pervert? Or worse, what if he was a monster? Sam had a broken arm, a broken rib, a broken spirit, and no weapons. Hell, the kid didn't even have shoes on his feet. He was no match for anyone in his present condition. And he was sixteen - just a kid. And a surprisingly good-looking kid too, which just made him more of a target.

What if Sam had jumped out of the frying pan that was his own miserable life, right into the fire of something worse?

Because of Dean's betrayal.

What if he'd done that?

What if, when Dean finally got to town, Sam was nowhere to be found? What if he just disappeared off the map after accepting a ride with a stranger? How would Dean ever survive something like that?

How would Dad?

Or would the older man even care? He'd be pissed that Sam accepted a ride with a stranger, no doubt. And he'd be worried about people seeing Sam in his current condition. But would he care? Like really care? Care like Dean cared?

Dean wasn't so sure he would.

All he knew was that they had to go find Sam. Right now. He ran back into the house and grabbed his shoes and his phone. And when his father's cell went to voicemail, Dean grabbed a shirt and his wallet and set out alone on foot to find the first car he could 'borrow.'

"I'm getting you back, Sammy." he vowed. "And when I do, I'll never let Dad hurt you again. I'll never hurt you again, little brother. I promise. I'm getting you back."

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Thank you to everyone who is reading, following, favoriting and reviewing :) I love hearing your feedback._


	5. Without a Plan

The doctor who Lily kept on speed dial for just such occasions shook his head sadly. "There is no excuse anywhere for what somebody did to that boy. It's unconscionable."

Lily handed the older man a cup of coffee and tried to keep her voice from shaking. "It's even worse if you know Sam." She volunteered. "He's the sweetest, shyest, smartest kid I've run across in my three years of teaching so far. I have no clue how someone could do that to him."

"Did he say who?"

She shook her head. "He alluded to an angry father, and Rick said a brother chased him out to the truck. Could be either, I guess." She raised her coffee shakily to her lips. "Will he be alright?"

The doctor sighed, stirring his drink. "Physically, he'll heal. I set and cast his arm, wrapped his ribs, and he had a gash below his collarbone that needed a few stitches. The rest is mostly severe bruises and abrasions. He says his left knee has been bothering him for awhile. He should have an x-ray, but he refused to come into the office. I gave him a brace and a pair of crutches to use temporarily."

"He's scared, Mike." Lily made excuse.

"I know. But he's also a minor, Lily. Where are you going to go with this from here?"

The teacher bit her lip. "I don't know yet. I certainly don't have much faith in the foster care system. I'd hate to see Sam end up as just another sad statistic."

"So you're thinking of relocating him in quiet?"

Lily stared at the doctor. "If we do, are you on board?"

The doctor sighed. "You know the boy better than I do. I'll trust your judgment. What the courts don't know, right?"

She smiled, relieved. "Exactly. And that, Mike, is why we love you." She grinned, passing him a platter of homemade cookies and putting several out onto a saucer. "I'll be right back."

She moved down the hallway to the last door on the right and knocked. She'd put Sam here because it was far away from her other guests, and she wanted him to have the extra privacy.

"Come in."

She entered and smiled. Sam was sitting up in bed, staring at the wall with a melancholy look on his face. "I come bearing cookies."

Sam smiled, but she could tell his heart wasn't in it. "Thank you." he said, taking one and setting the saucer on the nightstand.

Lily smiled, "If you need to talk about anything, Sam. You know I'll listen, right?"

He nodded, eyes glistening. "I know. I don't. Not right now."

She nodded sympathetically, "You don't want to tell me what happened? Who did this? Sam, was it your father?"

Sam just looked away.

"Your brother?"

A tear slipped out the mention of Dean. "I … I don't …" He fell silent.

"It's fine, Sam. You don't have to talk about it until you're ready. Are you hungry? We've already had dinner, but I have a ton of leftovers. You like meatloaf?"

"No, these are fine." Sam smiled, gesturing to the cookies. "They're really good."

Lily grinned. "Well, I'd love to take the credit, but baking was never really my thing. One of the moms who's staying here made them. She's gifted."

Sam sat up straighter, "So, how does this place work? I mean, I can't, like, live here, right?"

Lily smiled sadly, "Sam, if I could let anyone in the world live here full time, you'd be the first one on the list. I can't though. This place is just temporary until you decide what your next step is going to be. Have you thought about it?"

Sam looked her straight in the eye. "I can't go back. I just can't. It's just getting worse and worse at home."

"I know. I can see that."

"And I won't go into foster care. I'll run away first."

"Sam, I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to, okay? This is a safe place to … rest … to get your feet back under you. That's why we call it a shelter. You can stay a day or a month. Whatever you need. And if you haven't found your way in a month, then we'll re-evaluate and see where we are, okay? I'm not kicking you out, Sam. Not ever. Not unless you have somewhere safe to go."

Sam nodded. "What about school?"

Lily looked sad, "Sam, I know how important school is to you. But if you go back there, your family is going to be waiting. It wouldn't be the smart thing to do, and I know you're smart."

A wave of sadness washed over Sam then, as he thought about how disappointed Mr. Watts was going to be when Sam didn't show up Wednesday night.

Lily saw it. "You know this is just temporary. We can get you out of town, away from here, and someplace safe, and then you can re-enroll in another school. You're also old enough, Sam, that you could sign yourself out of conventional school and take night classes to get your GED. You could still go to college that way."

"But you could help me leave here? Help me find somewhere to go? I mean, I don't have any money." the boy's eyes teared up, "I don't even have my shoes or my wallet or my ID or anything."

Lily laid a comforting hand over Sam's own. "We do it all the time, Sam. Granted, it's mostly women and children who end up here, and they're usually running from an abusive husband or boyfriend, but that's basically what we do here. We help them out. Get them a new identity. Move them to a new town. Help them find a job and a place to live. And about the shoes and wallet? Almost everyone who makes it here, Sam, had to run for their lives. They all come without shoes, without extra clothes, without wallets and IDs. When you're afraid for your life, somehow that stuff doesn't seem quite as important as it used to."

"No, I guess not." Sam agreed, falling silent.

"Well, tell you what. There's a shower right through there, and I'm going to go scare up some clothes to fit you, okay? Did Dr. Mike give you a shower guard for your arm?"

Sam nodded.

"Okay, and you can unwrap the ribs while you take your shower, and then I can help you wrap them back up afterward?"

"It's okay. I know how. I do it all the time." Sam said without thinking.

Lily's eyes filled. "I'm so sorry, Sam. This has been going on for awhile, hasn't it?" She asked, suddenly thinking back to those times that Sam had come to school favoring an arm or a leg. She'd never actually seen bruises so she'd never thought to ask. Sam just always seemed so … well adjusted.

Sam shook his head. "It's never been anything I couldn't handle before."

"Before today, you mean?"

Sam nodded.

"It's okay, Sam. Tomorrow will be better. I promise. Now get settled in, and when you see me again, I'll have a whole new wardrobe for you."


	6. Missing

Dean took a seat at the counter and ordered his coffee black. He sat gazing straight ahead at nothing as he waited for the strong, bitter brew to arrive.

It had been seven days.

Sam had officially been missing for a week.

He'd stumbled out of their front yard last Wednesday night and into the cab of a passing truck and then just disappeared.

And nobody in this whole damned town knew a thing about the shy kid with the shaggy hair and the million-watt smile. Or if they did, they weren't telling.

Dean knew because he'd asked. He'd been to the school, to the YMCA, to all the local churches in the area. He'd canvassed all the diners and drive thrus, the arcade, the grocery stores and even the barrooms just on the off-chance that he'd catch a glimpse of the old truck that had driven away with the other half of Dean's heart cowering inside it.

People cared though. Even in the short months they'd been in town, Sam had left his legacy behind. As soon as the first missing poster went up on the first lamp post on the town's main street, kids at Sam's school had begun organizing. They'd held a candlelight vigil for him in the small park next to the ball field, and Dean was pretty sure that at least 75 percent of the town had shown up to hold candles and pray for his brother's safe return.

Dean's coffee arrived then, and the waitress glanced down at the stack of posters that Dean fingered worriedly. Sam's happy face smiled up at them from the cheap paper that the print shop had used.

And even in crappy, matte-finish black-and-white, Sam's personality blazed bright as a beacon.

She tsked sympathetically. "You knew that boy who disappeared?" She asked sadly.

Dean flinched. "I KNOW him, yes. He's my brother."

She shook her head. "That's such a shame." She helped herself to a poster. "He was such a cute kid, too."

Dean gritted his teeth but stayed silent, lifting the cup to his lips.

The waitress cracked her gum and stared at Sam's image. "You know, such a nice-looking boy. I bet he got, what do they call it? You know … uh … human trafficked." She smiled at her own ability to remember the phrase. "They just had a show about it on cable last week. I don't usually watch much TV, but this was fascinating - the stuff that happens to kids when they just go missing like that." She shook her head excitedly. "So sad."

Dean just stared, dumbfounded. But she continued unaware.

"They interviewed this one boy that had gotten himself rescued, and he talked about being kept in a cage and beaten with a whip and made to perform all kinds of …" Her voice trailed off as Dean rose to his feet, murder in his eyes. He slapped two dollars down on the counter.

"Here's for the crappy coffee." He snarled, fishing out a penny and slamming it down next, "And here's for the crappier conversation. You really are a clueless bitch. You know that, right?" And he plucked Sam's poster from her hand and placed it back on the pile. "Let's just save that one for someone who gives a damn, darlin'." He snarked and swept up his posters. He kicked the door open and strode off down the street, leaving her standing slack-jawed behind him.

"Fucking people, man." He growled to himself as he headed toward the old green beater he'd lifted from two towns over. Dad still had the Impala, and since the older man was more concerned with helping Caleb out on a hunt than he was in tracking down his missing son, Dean had done what he'd had to do.

"You know he's just heading to Bobby's because he's pissed, Dean. Sam got his pride hurt, and rather than face it like a man, like a Winchester, he'll go cry on Bobby's shoulder til the old man wipes his nose and makes him dinner." John had said, completely blowing off Dean's concern.

And Dean was pretty sure that was the conversation that had finally helped him realize just how much he genuinely disliked John Winchester.

"Dad, you don't get it. Sam got in a stranger's car because it seemed like the safer alternative than stepping back inside this house. And then he disappeared! Anything could be happening to him right now. Anything! He's badly hurt. We have to find him!"

"I'm sure your brother's fine, Dean. If you call Bobby in a few days, you'll see that Sam's there, bitch-faced as usual. And Caleb needs help. I'm not bailing on him and leaving his back uncovered just because Sam had another temper tantrum."

So it had been Dean who'd turned his back instead - on his father. And as each new day passed without word of Sam, Dean found himself becoming more and more certain that he'd never want to see the man again.

Dean sighed and tried to clear his head. He checked the time. It was just after 7, time to head over to the school and visit the science fair. Dean didn't really expect that Sam would show, but he knew how important this event had been to his little brother, and a straw was a straw.

He couldn't find the courage not to grasp it.

So at 7:15, he walked into the gym of Henry Senior High and stood just inside the door, studying the crowd. Three walls of the large room were lined with tables that held a bizarre variety of projects. And next to each project stood the proud teen who'd created it.

With the exception of one.

Dean had wondered how he'd recognize Sam's project. He'd only seen it at its conception. Three weeks ago it had been just a square of ¾-inch plywood and a bunch of stuff in a box. But as he walked up to the only entry that was conspicuously missing its inventor, Dean had to marvel at his brother's ingenuity. No wonder Sam's teacher thought he had a shot at greatness.

The project spread out on the table before him depicted a small town that stood in the shadow of a line of windmills with an on/off switch along one side. Dean reached down and flicked it to the on position and watched in delight as a small fan begin to turn, which in turn caused the first mill to begin rotating slowly. And as Dean watched, a chain-effect was created that sent movement on down the line until the miniature town that sat in a recess near the bottom right corner of the board sprang to life, complete with lights in every house and storefront, a Christmas tree that twinkled and twirled in the town square, and music that seemed to generate from inside the tiny record shop.

As time went on, the movement continued left across the bottom of the board until tiny cars powered up to roll along dirt tracks and a snowplow moved back and forth between two piles of snow that looked suspiciously like salt. With each crossing, the tiny plow descended, scooped up a few grains of salt and re-deposited them in the other pile. And as Dean watched, fascinated, the music stopped and Sam's voice emanated from the record shop, explaining exactly how, with the right technology and the brightest minds, the power of wind could one day be harnessed to power cars and trucks and not just electric lights and sound.

Dean's mind stopped, however, when his brother's voice began. It was tinny and of terrible quality, but it was definitely Sam. And Dean hadn't heard that voice in more than a week. Suddenly, his knees felt weak.

He stood, shaken, and flicked the switch to the off position, watching everything in the tiny town slowly power down. He took a swipe at his face and glanced to the right where someone had taken one of Dean's missing posters and set it in a frame. Taped to the table beneath the picture was a "We Miss You" card with what looked like hundreds of signatures. Dean stared for a moment before picking up the pen and drawing a small devil's trap in one corner.

Sam would get a kick out of that when he got him back.

"May I have your attention please?" A man stepped up to the small podium that had been wheeled to the front of the room, and Dean threaded his way back through the crowd to stand at the door.

"First, I'd like to welcome everyone to the 14th annual HSH science fair. If we could have a round of applause for all of our bright, young contributors?"

The room erupted in applause and whistles. When the noise died back to an acceptable level, the man continued. "Before we begin tonight, we have an important announcement." He stepped aside, and a much younger man took his place. He was tall and slim and reminded Dean of an L.L. Bean commercial. Maybe it was the hiking boots.

"Good evening." The man cleared his throat, and Dean could tell that public speaking wasn't his thing. "If you can't tell, public speaking isn't my thing." The man said, as Dean's eyes widened and he shifted uncomfortably against the wall. "I'm Ian Watts, the science teacher here at HSH, and I wanted to take a moment to remember someone who isn't here tonight."

Dean's heart picked up its pace.

"It you'll look to your left, you'll see one exhibit that's not attended by its designer. Sam Winchester is one of Henry Senior High's brightest and best, but he was unable to make it here tonight because he went missing last Wednesday."

Dean caught a small sob from the back of the room as the low buzz of conversation became quiet, and Watts continued.

"I know that Sam would be here with us tonight if he was able. He was quite excited about his exhibit and about the fair in general." The teacher took a moment to compose himself, clearing his throat. "But he's not, so I'd like to ask anyone out there who might have seen Sam recently or talked to him or who might know anything about his whereabouts to please call the local sheriff's office. If you're afraid to talk to the sheriff, you can talk to any one of the staff here at HSH, and we'll contact them for you. We'd like to see Sam safely back with us again. Thank you."

There was a hush as the man stepped away from the podium, and the principal took his place. "If we could have a moment of silence now for Sam."

Dean stood against the wall, studying the crowd as they silently prayed for his brother. Then he heard another small, smothered sob as a girl moved quickly past him and out into the hall. She was followed by a boy.

Dean slipped out of the room behind them and moved over the water fountain where he could study them without being obvious about it.

"Come on, Lindsey." The boy tried to comfort her, "Don't cry for Sam. He's gonna be fine."

The girl dug a tissue from her purse and wiped her nose. "You don't know that, Trev. How could you possibly know that? Sam could be … he could be dead. He could be somewhere being tortured right now. Now! When he should be here." She sobbed again.

The boy ran comforting hands up and down her upper arms and sighed. "Listen, you gotta stop being so sad, okay? Sam's fine. I know he's fine. Just trust me on this."

Inside, Dean snapped to attention.

"You don't know that! Nobody does!"

"Yeah? Well I do. So there. Now stop worrying."

"How?"

He sighed again and fell silent, like he was thinking.

"How Trev? How do you know that Sam's not lying dead somewhere in a ditch?" the girl demanded tearfully.

"Because I saw him this morning."

Dean's audible gasp was hidden by the girl's. "What!"

"I did. I saw him this morning. I was out at the Greyhound station, waiting to pick Mom up from her conference, and he walked right past me."

"What!" It seemed this girl and Dean had the same vocabulary.

"It was Sam, Lindsey. Trust me. I mean, he looked totally different. He'd cut his hair and dyed it blond, and he was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, but it was Sam. You know how he stands with his shoulders kinda slouched? Hands in his front jean pockets? That's how I knew him."

"Sam would never cut his hair." She argued. "It couldn't have been. How do know for sure?"

The boy snorted, "Well, duh, I said, 'Hey Sam,' and he jumped about a foot then looked over at me and smiled."

By this time, Dean was sure the boy was just telling his girlfriend a story to make her feel better. Sam cut his hair? Not happening.

"Well, did … did he say anything?"

Trevor nodded. "He said, 'Hey Trev.' I said, 'You know you got people looking all over for you?'"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, and he said the same thing. Said he was heading out of town, that he didn't wanna be found."

"What! Why?"

"Well, I didn't wanna stick my nose in, but I'm guessing it had something to do with the fact that his old man had beat the tar out of him."

Lindsey gasped, "No!"

Trevor nodded, "Had his arm in a cast, his leg in a brace and was leaning on crutches. He never took his glasses off, but his face was a mess too, I could tell."

Dean's eyes closed and he swallowed back bile.

"I said, 'What the hell happened to you, man?' And he said his old man went on a bender and beat him up."

Lindsey stared, "Trev, you … you shouldn't have let him leave!"

"You think I didn't try? I like Sam. He helped me out last month when I was failing algebra. I'd never have made it through that class if he hadn't sat down beside me that first day. I'd do anything for Sam. He knows that. I tried to get him to come home with me, but I could tell he was spooked."

"Well, where was he going?"

"That's the worst part. I asked him that too, and he said he didn't really know. He was just going away. Got on a bus headed to Baltimore."

"All alone? Oh, Trev!" She started crying again.

He pulled her close. "Hey, shh. Sam's a big boy. He'll be fine. He can take care of himself. Come on. Stop crying, Lin."

Lindsey swiped at her nose again and shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's just so sad. He doesn't deserve to have to live like that."

Trevor sighed. "I know. I'd love to send my old man over there to have a little talk with his old man."

Oh, Dean couldn't picture that ending well.

Lindsey sniffled, "Maybe you should, him being a deputy and all."

But Trevor shook his head. "No. I promised Sam I wouldn't rat him out, and I won't. He wants a new life, he should have it. Hey," He looked down at the girl fondly. "Would you cry this hard for me if I had a mean old drunk for a dad and a useless sack of shit for a big brother?"

Dean stiffened.

She giggled through her tears. "You ass. Of course I would. Wait? Sam has a brother? Did he say that?"

Trevor shook his head, "Not today. Never mentioned him at all, and that's how I know he was involved somehow."

Lindsey looked confused, "Hunh?"

"When Sam was tutoring me last month, he talked about the guy all the time - how awesome he was. But this morning? Not a peep. That's how I know. Either the dad killed him, or the guy left or something. But unless he's dead, he'd be shit in my book if I was Sam. An older brother's supposed to look out for you. If Dad ever hit me? Holy shit, Ryan would freak."


	7. Bobby Finds Out

Dean's phone rang, and he set his coffee down on the sticky diner table to dig it out of his pocket. He looked at the ID and a sudden wave of relief swelled over him so completely that it left him feeling shaky. There was only one reason that Bobby would be calling him out of the blue.

Sam was there. Had to be. Dad had been right. He flipped the phone open and grinned into it.

"Bobby! Thank God!" He breathed.

"Dean, how've you been, boy?"

"Well better now. Dad said he'd show up there eventually. So is he okay?"

Silence.

"Bobby?"

"So Sam's not with you?" the old hunter said, and Dean's world collapsed all over again.

"What? No! I thought … I thought that's why you were calling?"

"No, he's not here, Dean. Sorry, kid. How long has he been missing? What? He run away?"

Dean had trouble getting his voice to work again. He'd been so damn sure when he saw who was calling.

"Uh, yeah. I guess you could call it that. He's been missing since last Wednesday."

Bobby exploded, "Well balls, boy! When were you going to call me?"

Dean sighed, "I would have, Bobby. I just … I didn't wanna worry you until I had to. Dad thought he'd head in your direction, and I knew you'd call me if he showed." Dean trailed off.

"What the hell's going on there? Sam would just as soon break a leg as be separated from you."

Dean's eyes closed. "Not anymore, Bobby. I messed up. I messed up big. I don't think Sam will ever forgive me." He swallowed hard, his voice shaking, "And honestly, I'm not sure he should. I was a total douche to the kid."

"Son, I know for a fact that there's nothing you could do that would make Sam want to get away from you. John? Sure. Not you. That kid's world revolves around his big brother."

Dean's voice was far away when he answered, "Yeah, well, not so much anymore."

Bobby heard the devastation in Dean's voice. Whatever had happened between them, it must have been big. He cleared his throat. "Well, I ain't seen Sam, but he is the reason I called you."

"What? Why?"

"Got a letter here from him. Addressed to you. Just came today."

Dean was suddenly excited, "Postmark?" He barked.

"Albany, NY. Mailed four days ago."

Dean deflated as he counted backward to the night of the science fair. Sam must have mailed it from the bus station before he cut town.

"What's it say, Bobby?"

"You miss the part about it bein' addressed to you? I don't open other people's mail, boy."

Dean sighed, "Well, considering I'm hell and gone from Sioux Falls, Bobby. I don't see any other way."

The old hunter sighed, "Hold on." And Dean was treated to the sound of ripping paper. Then Bobby started to read.

And Dean died a little inside.

 _Dean,_

 _I know you're probably out looking for me, so sending this to the house would be useless. I thought if I sent it to Bobby (Hi Bobby), you'd be sure to get it._

 _I want you know that I don't blame you for what happened. I know you, and you're blaming yourself enough as it is. Don't worry about me. I found some good people before I left Albany, and they stitched me up and reset my arm and wrapped my ribs …"_

Bobby stopped reading at this point, and Dean could hear him swearing.

"Bobby please." Dean begged. "I'll tell you all about it as soon as you're done reading."

The old hunter picked back up, " … _and now I'm good as new. I'm not ever coming back though, Dean. I'm sorry. Things with Dad and me just keep getting worse and worse, and I'm honestly afraid he might kill me one of these days, or have you do it for him, and that's what really scares me. I don't want to ever put you in that position, so I'm going to stay away._

 _Some friends gave me a little cash and put me onto a place to stay, so I'm leaving town today. Don't bother trying to find me, Dean, because I don't want to be found. If you find me, that just means Dad will find you, and then we'll be right back where we started, and I want to live to see seventeen._

 _Mostly I just wanted you to know that I'm okay. I know you've been torturing yourself with visions of me in the hands of some monster or some pervert, but that couldn't be further from the truth. That man who gave me a ride into town knew some people who were willing to help. They looked after me and gave me a place to sleep and food to eat and even had a doctor in to take care of everything Dad did to me. I say that Dad did because I know that none of this was on you. It wasn't your idea, and you probably just went along with it because Dad threatened to do something worse to me if you didn't. So even though you threw a few punches, I'm not mad at you, Dean. It was Dad who broke my arm and sliced my chest open so that I needed fourteen stitches …"_

Bobby stopped reading again and silence filled the line.

Dean swallowed. "I know. I have some explaining to do."

Bobby cleared his throat again, " _... and mangled up my face til it looked like raw meat. I couldn't go out anywhere because I was afraid if I did that you or Dad would see me and drag me back and then he'd finish what he started, and I knew if that happened, you'd never get over it. And I couldn't go back to school because I was afraid he'd be waiting for me there and someone would try to intervene on my behalf and get hurt._

 _So you see, me leaving is the best thing for everyone involved, although I miss you like hell. At least this way you know I'm safe and not lying in a shallow grave out in the back yard that Dad made you dig to toughen you up like a Winchester. (I had to chuckle a little as I wrote this, Dean)_

 _So that's why I cut and ran. I'm sorry. I know it's the coward's way out and not 'the Winchester way,' but honestly, Dean, the Winchester way hasn't worked out for me like it has for you. You and Dad have always gotten along fine, and I hope that this doesn't change that. Just because I'm sort of an orphan now doesn't mean you have to be one too. I know how much Dad's approval means to you, and I promise I won't be mad that you stayed with him. There's just something about me that can't do anything right in Dad's eyes, and I can't seem to fix it. And I'm tired now of trying._

 _I'll try to get word to you from time to time to let you know I'm okay. I don't want you to worry about me, but I'll admit that the thought of turning around one day and seeing Dad standing there is just about the worst thing I can picture. Please don't come looking, Dean. Don't come, because if you come, he'll follow. He's willing to let me go, I know. In fact, I bet he's off hunting right now. But if you come after me, he won't stop til he finds you, and nothing good could come of that._

 _So anyway, sorry for the chick flick moment, but it's coming anyway. I love you, big brother. Always have, always will. And I'll never stop missing you. But we just can't be together. Not anymore. It's not safe for either of us._

 _Take Care of yourself, Dean._

 _Love,_

 _Sam_

 _Bobby,_

 _My first thought was to run to you, but then I realized I'd just be bringing a raft of Winchester baggage with me, and I didn't want that. So I ran in a different direction instead. I'll keep these letters coming to you because I know I can trust you to destroy them after you and Dean see them. Please burn this one after you read it to Dean. Please Bobby? Because if you don't, it could just bring a world of hurt down on you both._

 _I love you too, Bobby. And I miss you._

 _Sam._

The line fell silent, and for the life of him, Dean couldn't speak.

But Bobby had plenty to say.

"So, where's John?"

"Hunting with Caleb."

"Um hm. And you punched your brother?"

"Twice. I punched him twice. In the face."

Silence.

"And you did that why again?"

"Because I knew I could pull them. And if I didn't, Dad was going to. I just wanted to put him down, Bobby, so the torment would end. But Sam wouldn't stay down. He was pissed."

"And how did his arm get broken?"

"Dad barreled him into a tree."

"That where the stitches came in?"

"No. Dad sliced him earlier with my knife because he wouldn't fight back."

"Wouldn't fight who?"

"Wouldn't fight Dad."

"So John sliced your brother with a knife because he wouldn't fight him?"

"Yeah."

"And then you both beat him?'

"No. Dad choked him out first. Then, when he came to. We beat him." Dean had never been so ashamed of himself in his life as he was retelling what went on that night to the old hunter who loved them both like sons. He knew how it sounded. Hell, he knew what it was. He just didn't know why he'd gone along with it.

"I know how it sounds, Bobby."

"Why the hell would you go along with something like that, Dean?"

"I didn't want to! I wanted to tap out and just not be involved, but I knew if I did that it would just be Sam and Dad. At least if I was there, I could see that it didn't go too far."

"But the kid got a broken arm and a busted up face? You don't call that going too far?"

"Yeah, I do, Bobby. I told you. I don't deserve Sam's forgiveness. I was a douche. It's just, when Dad starts talking, he plays us off against one another and always makes it sound like if I don't do whatever he wants then Sam will be the one who pays. It's head games, man. And Dad's a master at them. At the time I thought it was the only choice. I thought I was protecting Sam from something worse, but I wasn't. I was just being a coward." Dean's voice broke.

"I was coward, Bobby, and I let Dad talk me into hurting my little brother. You and Sam could never hate me more than I hate myself right now."


	8. Calls From a Bus Headed West

Ian Watts was 25 minutes into a lecture on what constituted the understory of a rain forest when a knock sounded on his classroom door, and the office secretary peeked in and motioned him over.

"You have a phone call in the office, Ian." she whispered. "Says it's an emergency but won't give a name."

Ian stared, he had no family - certain none close enough to call in case of an emergency. It had to be a joke.

"I'll keep an eye on things here if you wanna take it. It sounds like a student."

Ian nodded, "Okay. Thank you, Darlene. I won't be long." he stepped into the hallway and strode quickly to the office.

"What line?" He asked Becky, as she turned from the filing cabinet.

She smiled, "Line three."

Ian nodded and picked up the receiver, punching the lit number three. "This is Ian Watts."

"Oh, hi, uh, Mr. Watts. I'm sorry to call you out of class."

"That's not a problem. Who is this?"

The voice on the other end of the line cleared its throat nervously, "Uh, Sam. Sam Winchester."

Ian's gasp brought a concerned look from Becky and from Principal Towers, who'd just entered the room.

"Sam! Where are you? Are you okay?"

"Sam Winchester?" The principal mouthed silently.

Ian nodded.

"Uh, I'm fine. I'm just calling because I wanted to say, you know, sorry about the science fair. I … I couldn't come. I'm sorry. I know I let you down."

Ian shook his head as though Sam could see him, "No Sam. You didn't let me down. I'm just glad you're alright. Are you alright?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Sam answered in a strained voice. "Yeah, I'm … fine. I just wanted to let you know I was okay so everyone there would stop worrying."

Ian frowned. Something was wrong. "Are you coming back to school?"

"No." Sam said, his voice breaking.

Ian was starting to feel desperate. He could tell there was something very wrong with this conversation. "Sam listen to me. Where are you? Is somebody with you? Do you need help?"

"No. I don't need help. You can't help me. Nobody can. I have to help myself now."

Ian didn't like the sound of that. "Sam! Don't hang up, okay? I need you to tell me where you are."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Watts. I can't. I … I have to go away."

"Sam, you're not planning to hurt yourself, are you?" Ian pleaded, locking eyes with Principal Towers.

But the principal had heard enough. "Get the sheriff on the other line," She instructed her assistant quietly.

"What? No. I wouldn't do that. I just meant I had to leave town. I'm on a bus a few states away. I just wanted to say … bye, I guess. You were always good to me. I liked being in your class."

Ian couldn't reconcile the despondent voice coming over the line with the smart, happy kid he knew.

"Sam, listen, whatever's happened, it's not the end of the world, okay? I know it can feel like that when you're 16, but nothing is ever so bad that you have to run away. You have friends here, Sam. We can help you."

"I know. That's why I can't stay. My dad …"

Ian's eyes narrowed. "What Sam? What about your dad."

"He'll be angry when he finds out I'm gone. I don't want to bring trouble down on someone because they tried to help me. That's not why I'm calling. Honest. I just … didn't want anyone to worry. I'm fine."

"Sam, did your dad hurt you?" Ian felt his anger building.

Silence.

"Sam? You can tell me. We can get you out of there. Send the sheriff over if we have to."

Sam chuckled then, but it wasn't a happy laugh. In fact, it was the laugh of someone much older, and it sort of made Ian's blood run cold. This sounded so far removed from the Sam he knew that he was suddenly terrified for the kid. "No sheriff is any match for the mighty John Winchester." He stated coldly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Watts. I have to go now. Thank you for everything."

"Sam! Sam, wait!" Ian practically shouted. But the line was dead.

"Dammit!" Ian slammed the phone down, turning to Principal Towers. "Something's really wrong. He says he's on a bus out of town, but that … it didn't sound like Sam."

She bit her lip. I had Becky dial up the sheriff as soon as you mentioned Sam hurting himself. They're on the way. Maybe they can backtrack the call or something. She brought Ian a cup of water from the cooler. Here, try to calm down. Sam's going to be fine. He's a smart boy."

###

Sam sat on the westbound bus for New Mexico, second-guessing his decision to call Mr. Watts. He really had only wanted to set the man's mind at ease, but he had the feeling he'd just made things worse. Now they thought he was a suicide risk. They might try to send a cop after him to bring him back. And if he showed up on John Winchester's doorstop with a cop beside him, the whole world might explode.

Sam had never felt so lonely in his life. As bad as his old life had been, at least he had known what to expect most of the time. Now he was on a bus full of strangers, heading to a town he'd never seen to meet yet another stranger he didn't know. He really only wanted to talk to one person in the whole world right now. He flipped open the phone that Lily had provided him. It was just a cheap prepaid contraption. Hard to trace, she'd said. But she'd still cautioned him to be careful. Sam didn't really know if it was possible for the police to find him by tracking his phone, but he didn't want to take any chances.

But he wanted to talk to Dean so badly he almost couldn't stand it. It was almost a physical thing. Almost without realizing it, he dialed the familiar number. It picked up before the first ring ended.

"Hello?"

Sam's eyes closed and he smiled at the familiar voice. That voice was instant comfort to Sam. It was balm to his torn and bleeding soul and food for his starving heart. That voice was gentle hands treating his wounds and worried eyes searching his own. It was …

"Hello? Anyone there?"

Still Sam didn't respond. He hadn't planned to. He just wanted - he needed - to hear his brother's voice. But then Dean surprised him.

"I got your letter, Sammy."

Before he could help it, a gasp escaped his surprised lips.

Encouraged now, Dean continued on desperately. "I got it, and I don't deserve it, Sammy. I don't. I'm so sorry for what I did. You have no idea how … how much I …. Dammit Sam. You didn't deserve any of that. I know I can never make it up to you, but please, Sam. Just, at least talk to me. I have to hear your voice, dude."

Panicked, Sam flipped the phone shut and turned it off before it could ring back. How did Dean know? How did he always fucking know?

Sam turned to gaze out the window and startled himself again with his own reflection. Changing his appearance had been Lily's idea. But even with the blond hair and new cut, Trevor had recognized him. When the boy had called his name back at the bus station, Sam had almost wet his pants in fear. He was sure when he turned that he'd see John standing there.

And John was not someone he ever planned to see again. He'd happily give the man up for life and never feel one qualm of guilt or sadness.

What sucked was that in order to give up John, he had to give up Dean as well.

And Sam was in no way sure he'd ever be able to survive that particular loss.


	9. Broken in Silver City

Sam stepped off the bus in Silver City and lifted his worn duffle onto his shoulder. It felt so good to finally be at the end of his journey. The person who was meeting him here had a bit of money for him. He would help him get established in town, help him find a job, help him get his feet back under him, and if Sam had his way, he'd never set foot on a freaking bus ever again.

Sam looked around for his contact, but the man apparently hadn't arrived yet. The younger Winchester walked around the bus depot for a few minutes, stretching his legs and his back. The last bus ride had been the longest - nearly five hours - and he was ready for a soft bed and maybe something to eat. At every change up along the way, from Baltimore on, there had been someone to meet him, to wait with him for the next bus, or to take him out for a quick meal. It was all part of Lily's underground railroad type of system that smuggled people out of town when they needed to disappear. Lily explained that it was all made possible by volunteers and by donations and that whenever Sam got established somewhere and got back on his feet, he could repay the kindness either by donating money or by offering to be someone's help along the way.

It had all gone smooth as glass.

Until now.

Suddenly it was dark outside and Sam had been waiting for hours, and nobody had shown. He'd just flipped open the phone to call Lily when he heard the shuffle behind him. Strong hands grabbed him right up and over the back of the bench, wrenching his broken arm. Sam screamed, trying to find purchase with his feet, but the arms were suddenly dragging him back behind the building, a hand clamped over his mouth, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

Sam fought like a man possessed, unable to accept that he was about to become a victim yet again. But his injuries from the week before made him an easy target. The boys pummeled him until he was senseless, then they snaked his duffle and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. When they realized he was totally broke, they attacked again with a flurry of kicks aimed at his abdomen.

When they finished taking out their aggression, Sam was barely conscious. They kicked him a final time for good measure and then drifted away, laughing.

Sam lay where they'd dropped him - flat on his back once again. He stared up at stars this time, instead of blue sky, but the feeling was the same. He shifted his right hand straight out and felt it brush against the hard case of his phone. It was so cheap it hadn't been worth stealing, and he was glad to see they hadn't wrecked it. He pulled it slowly toward himself and struggled to level out his breathing. He turned it on and hit redial.

"Sammy?"

Sam held the phone close to his ear - his lifeline to sanity and reason - but he didn't speak.

"Sammy, tell me where you are."

Sam drifted, the pain receding to just a dull ache as his brother's soothing voice washed over him like a refreshing rain.

"Sam, you okay?"

Silence.

"Please tell me where you are so I can come get you. Dad's not with me, Sam, honest. I don't care if I ever see him again. You were right about him. You were right about all of it. You called it from the get-go. I don't know why I couldn't see it for what it was before it was too late. Before you got hurt. I'll never forgive myself Sam. Never."

Sam smiled, his heart thawing.

"Do you want me just to talk to you, Sam? Is that it? Do you need to hear my voice? Because I need to hear yours too. Won't you please let me know that you're okay at least?"

Sam heard the need in his brother's voice, but he knew that if he spoke, he was lost. The older boy would talk him into revealing his location. Sam wanted the safety of Dean so much he could taste it. So he listened instead and prayed that Dean would understand what he needed. It was what Dean did best, after all - anticipate his little brother's needs. He'd done it since before Sam could talk, and Sam could only pray that he'd do it again for him now.

"Okay, a one-sided conversation it is then, little brother. I'll talk as long as you need me to, and when you hang up, I'll know we're done." Dean paused, then continued. "I went to your science fair, Sammy. I saw your project. You did a real good job on it. The way the little town lit up and the Christmas tree whirled around - that was amazing. And then the cars and the little snow plow with the salt. I wonder where you got the idea to use salt?"

Sam snorted despite himself. And he could hear his brother smiling through the phone.

"And they had one of your missing posters in a frame and a card that said, 'We Miss You' on it that it looked like a thousand kids had signed. I wrote something on it for you too, Sam, but you'll have to come back to me to see it. Come back to me and we'll go to the school and pick up your project and the card and then you can see my little joke."

Silence.

"There was this hot chick named Lindsey crying her eyes out over you, Sam. And some dude named Trevor trying to make her feel better. I think he was a little jealous." Dean didn't mention that Trevor had talked about seeing him at the bus station because he was afraid it would spook Sam and he'd hang up. And Dean needed this connection right now just as much as Sam did.

"And then a few days later Bobby called me. I think he wants a pound of my flesh, Sam. I had to come clean about all of it - about everything we … we did to you. And he was pissed. I think he was as pissed as I ever heard him. He asked me why I ever agreed to go along with something like that, Sammy, and I didn't have an answer for him. I didn't have an excuse because there isn't one. I thought at the time I was protecting …"

Sam disconnected the call and shut off the phone. There was too much pain in his brother's voice, and Sam's heart was too broken already.

He drifted toward unconsciousness.


	10. PredatorPrey

_**Author's Warning:** This story takes a bit of a dark turn from this point forward. It's still within an M rating, but please be advised that more details of Sam's ordeal with Ian will be forthcoming. Thanks for reading!_

Ian was between classes, grading papers in the teacher's lounge when the emergency call came through. Becky came to fetch him this time, and he took the call inside the lounge.

"This is Ian Watts."

"Mr. Watts, this is Alberta Reynolds with Grant County Memorial. We have a young man here with no identification. He was found unconscious clutching his phone, and your name and number were the only ones programmed into it."

"Uh, Can you describe him?"

"Sure, about 16 years old, short blond hair, and he has one arm in a cast and one leg in a brace."

Ian thought about the description. It sounded nothing like him, but it had to be Sam. There was no other family in Ian's life. No one else near that description who would have Ian's work number programmed into a phone. He made a decision.

"Yes, that's my … my nephew. Is he okay?"

"He's unconscious. He appears to have been beaten pretty badly, but he should recover. Can you give us his full name, please?"

Ian hesitated for only a moment, glancing around at the crowded lounge. "It's Sean. Sean Watts."

"Are you available to come here, Mr. Watts? I'm assuming Sean is a minor. He'll need an adult to sign off on any treatments we give him."

"Where is Grant County?"

"Silver City, New Mexico."

"New Mexico?" Ian gasped.

"Yes. Are you close?"

"I'm in Albany, NY, but I … I can be there by morning."

"That sounds great, Mr. Watts. Thank you. We'll look for you in the morning, then."

Ian disconnected the call and headed straight for the office.

###

Later, standing in the shower inside his apartment, Ian allowed himself to go down the checklist. Emergency leave granted. Bag packed. Plane ticket purchased. He had a neighbor picking up his mail and newspaper. He'd covered all his bases. He was free to go.

To Sam.

The poor kid must have no one if Ian was the only contact he had left.

And the teacher could understand that. He knew exactly how it felt, in fact. Ian's own family had turned on him. They'd told to leave and never come back. He knew what that kind of loneliness felt like.

Maybe he could be there for Sam in a way no one else ever had. Maybe he could … could ... Ian groaned, and just like that, the old familiar feeling was back. Ian pictured Sam - all of him. He pictured the boy's silky hair and his soft skin. He saw his long, well-muscled legs arriving for class still dressed in his track uniform - sweat dripping from his face and plastering strings of hair to his skin. He saw broad shoulders and a trim waist and … and … Ian's hand moved downward.

Suddenly he pictured Sam stretched out and struggling beneath him - those beautiful brown eyes wide with fear, hands tied to the bedposts. Would he beg, or would he scream? Ian had no idea. But suddenly he knew he had to find out.

Sam had no one - no one to miss him, no one to come after him. He was alone and injured and in a strange town, and Ian was the one on track to rescue him.

It couldn't be more perfect.

Ian finished, his legs going weak, and stumbled from the shower. He fell across the bed, an arm flung over his eyes. He had shopping to do.

He'd gotten rid of all his toys long ago, when his sentence had first come down. It was a provision of his parole. He'd played nicely for a while, then he'd bought a new identity and ditched his P.O. and moved to Albany. He resumed his life as a teacher of adolescent boys and for the longest time, he'd been forced to watch from afar, and it had been … difficult.

It had been especially difficult the day Sam walked into his class. So tall, so smart, so …. desperate for approval. Sam was what the guys at the farm called an easy mark - so deprived of attention and love from his family that he was easily manipulated into situations that might not be in his best interests.

But they'd be in Ian's.

They'd be in Ian's, and he'd damn well take advantage. It had been six long years. Six years since Ian had indulged his darkest desires, but now Sam needed him. He needed Ian, and Ian needed him.

Probably not in the same way, but who cared? Ian would go to Sam. He'd rescue him. He'd set them up in a secluded apartment somewhere, and then the gorgeous boy with the silken tresses would be his to do with as he pleased.

And he'd make that boy scream.

Oh, it would be lovely.


	11. I Can't Trust You

Sam woke in a panic. White walls, bright sunlight, the monotonous sound of beeping - suddenly he knew where he must be, and his heart kicked up a pace.

Sam despised hospitals.

All his life John had drilled into his son's head that he couldn't end up in a hospital, or he'd be stolen away in the night by the social service department of whatever state they were staying in at the time.

And then who knew what would happen to him.

That's why Sam had suffered in relative silence anytime a spirit flung him into a headstone or a ghoul sliced a vein open neatly. Dean always repaired him instead, and that's the way Sam preferred it.

Damn. He missed his brother.

If Dean were here, he wouldn't be stuck in a hospital bed, waiting to hear what they planned to do with him. Dean would be right there kicking ass and taking names. He'd be telling the hospital staff what was going to happen next and not the other way around.

Sam had never had that take-charge way about him, not like Dean did. Oh he could try to be bossy and argumentative, but mostly it just made people chuckle and ruffle his hair.

Sam guessed it was his eyes or something.

And how long had he been here anyway? Sam lifted a shaky hand to grab the water cup that sat on the tray next to him and took a long drink. Judging by the state of his throat, it had been a while. And when he set the cup back down, he noticed his phone sitting right there beside it. It was connected to a charger he didn't recognize. And when he followed the slender cord to its origin, he saw it plugged firmly into the wall.

He smiled then. Someone had cared enough to find a charger and power up his phone. And if he ever needed to hear a friendly voice, now was the time.

It took him two tries to find his last call to Dean's familiar number and hit redial, but eventually, he heard the ring on the other end. It was picked up instantly.

"Sammy!" Dean sounded … emotional, and Sam caught his breath.

"Sam, it's been three days. Where the hell have you been? I thought … I … well. Where the hell were you?"

When Sam didn't reply, Dean sighed. "Please kid, you're torturing me with this. I need to know that you're okay. Please, Sammy?"

Sam heard the suffering in his brother's voice, and opened his mouth to reply, but a nurse breezed in at just that moment.

She seemed surprised. "Hey! You're awake! That's good news. How do you feel, Sean?"

Sam let the phone sink into his lap in surprise. "Uh, good, I guess."

"Well good then." She smiled. "I just stopped by to take your vitals, and then I'll see about getting you something to eat. You must be starving."

"How … how long have I been here?"

"Police brought you in four nights ago, Sean. You'd been beaten pretty badly. Do you remember what happened?"

Sam shook his head. "Why are you calling me Sean?"

She froze, glancing up from taking his pulse. "Isn't that your name? Sean Watts?"

Sam shook his head. "It's Sam. Sam … Wyatt."

She looked concerned, "Well that's a problem. Your uncle was here this morning. He identified you as his nephew Sean."

Suddenly Sam had a vision of John Winchester standing over his bed when he was unconscious and helpless. Had John given them an alias? Told them a lie so that when he checked Sam out, no one would ever know what happened to him? He felt the room beginning to close in and noticed the nurse look at him strangely, and he forced himself to calm down and take a few deep breaths.

"You mean my Uncle Bobby?" Sam asked hopefully.

She shook her head, "No, your Uncle … Ian … I think he said his name was."

Sam tried to wrap his head around that. "Ian Watts?"

She nodded, relieved. "Are you remembering now?"

"Was he a big guy? dark hair, leather jacket, constant scowl?"

The nurse chuckled, "Not hardly. More of an outdoorsy type, I think. And skinny as a pole. I think a good wind would blow him away. The two of you could definitely be related."

It dawned on Sam then, who she was talking about. The science teacher, Mr. Watts. His eyes narrowed. Why would Mr. Watts …

But the nurse interrupted his train of thought, "Well, I think maybe that concussion is making you a little loopy." She smiled to soften her words. "We'll get it all straightened out, I'm sure. In the meantime, rest. And I'll have something sent in for you to eat as soon as I okay it with your doctor. Sound good, Sean? I mean Sam?"

Sam nodded and watched her leave, his mind trying to separate this new wealth of information he'd been given. Suddenly he realized his phone was still open in his lap, and he raised it to his ear.

"Dean?" he asked, tentatively.

He heard a sharp intake of breath, "Sammy! Thank God. You know, I heard all of that. You're in a hospital? Because somebody beat you? I swear Sam, I'm gonna split some heads. You tell me what happened."

"I .. I don't know why they're calling me Sean …"

Dean hesitated, "Where are you, Sam? I'll be there as soon as I can get there. You just tell me where, okay? I'll straighten it all out."

"I'm … no Dean. Dad … Dad's following you, whether you think he is or not. He'll never let you go."

"I swear, Sammy. Dad's nowhere near me. You don't think I'd know if I was being followed? Come on. This is your big brother you're talking about. And anyway, even if he did show up, no way in hell I'd let him anywhere near you now."

Sam felt his anger rising. "You say that now, but when you're in the same room with him, you turn into just another soldier in the John Winchester army." He said bitterly.

Dean was silent, and when he spoke again, Sam could hear the pain in this voice, "Not anymore, Sam. Not after this. Not after losing you. I swear, I … I just … I want you to be safe. I want you here with me where I can make sure nobody hurts you ever again. It's my job, Sam."

But Sam remembered how it felt when Dean had taken him down back there in the front yard. The older boy meant well, Sam knew. But he was no match for John Winchester and his head games.

He swallowed hard. "No Dean. I'm not telling you where I am because I … I can't trust you. Not anymore. I know you mean what you say right now, but it all changes when Dad's around. He'd kill me, Dean. I know he would. And he wouldn't think a thing about it either. Or worse, he'd talk you into it. And at the time it would seem like the only option, like if you didn't kill me he'd have somebody else do it worse or something. And then you'd feel like you had to because if you didn't, it would be slow and painful. You know I'm right. You know how he is."

"Sammy, how can you even …"

But Sam was sure now that he was doing the right thing. "It's okay, Dean. I don't blame you. I really don't. But I don't want to die either. I don't wanna die and be burned and buried somewhere in a shallow grave where no one will ever know what happened to me. I think I have … things I can contribute to society if anyone ever gives me a chance. And I'll figure out what's going on here and fix it by myself. I've made it this far. I can make it the rest of the way."

"Sam, please. You're hurt. I … I need to be there with you."

"No Dean. I'm sorry. I … miss you more than anything, but I'm just … I'm so damn scared." His voice wavered. "The person who was supposed to meet me never came, and then those boys showed up and took all my stuff and … and then I woke up here, and they think I'm some guy named Sean. I think I might be losing my mind."

"I know you're scared, Sammy. I'm scared too. We need to be together so we can handle this, okay? Remember? It's you and me against the world, Sammy. Now tell me the name of the damned hospital. Please?" Dean's voice was fast approaching desperate.

Sam took a deep breath and did the hardest thing he'd probably ever done.

He said goodbye to his brother.


	12. Closing In on Sammy

"Dammit Sam! You stubborn little bitch!" Dean exploded, flipping his phone shut and pounding his knee in frustration. He'd been able to follow Sam's trail as far as Kentucky, and then it had gone dry. He'd spent the better part of a week holed up here in a shit motel, haunting all the bus stations, train stations, and cab companies, talking with everyone he encountered.

But no one had seen the tall, skinny kid with the short blond hair and the broken arm.

And now this. Sam had been beaten.

Again.

Only this time it had been bad enough to put him in a hospital somewhere.

And Dean's heart broke, just thinking about it.

" _I … I can't trust you …"_

Dean knew he deserved to hear that, but that hadn't made it hurt any less.

He grimaced and picked up his phone. He'd think about how to fix that later. After all, he had to find Sam before he could convince him he was trustworthy again.

"Hey Bobby? I need a favor."

"Hello to you too, Dean."

"Yeah, hi. Listen, Sam just called. He's hurt. He's in a hospital somewhere. Won't tell me where. You got somebody who can run a few names for me? Check them against hospital admissions?"

Suddenly Bobby was all business. "Hold on. Let me get a pen. Okay, shoot."

"Sean Watts or Sam Wyatt." Sam's using both of them apparently, but I think he probably went into the hospital as Watts."

"Damned kid is too smart for his own damned good." Bobby grumbled. "Let me get these to Ash. Sit tight." The line disconnected.

Dean sat, fingers drumming on the nightstand. Then he paced. He was just about to start ranting when the phone rang again.

"Whatcha got?" Dean barked.

"Okay, here's the deal. Ash found a shit-ton of Sean Watts being admitted to hospitals, but not a single Sam Wyatt. By process of elimination, Ash thinks Sam is either in Silver City, New Mexico at Grant County Memorial, or he's in San Francisco in City General."

"Got it, Bobby. Thanks! Hey, how'd he eliminate the others?"

"Cross-referenced by age or date of admissions or phase of the moon, I guess. Hell, boy. I don't know."

Dean grinned, "Bobby, I owe you a big one. And tell Ash thanks for me, okay?"

"Will do. Just find him, son. I'm starting to miss that little geek."

Two phone calls later, and Dean felt his heart beginning to lighten. Sam was in New Mexico. The kid fit his description to a tee - his new description anyway - and Dean was already in the car and heading west before he realized that he recognized that name, Watts.

Ian Watts was Sam's science teacher in New York. What the hell was he doing following Sam clear across the country? He picked up the phone again.

"Hey Bobby? One more name?"

"Sure kid."

"Have Ash run an Ian Watts, he's a school teacher out of New York, and Bobby?"

"Yeah."

"Tell him to look for signs that it's an alias. I got a bad feeling about this guy, and supposedly, he's with Sam as we speak."

Bobby paused. "Bad news, you think?"

"I hope not, but something tells me he's not on the up and up."

Bobby sighed. "Will do. That boy sure can find trouble without much trying."

Dean swallowed hard, "He didn't find it, Bobby. It landed on him at the ends of my fists. If anything else happens to that kid because of me…" His voice broke.

"You'll get there in time, Dean. You always do." Bobby said gruffly.

"Yeah. Thanks again, Bobby." Dean disconnected and pushed the pedal down. Sam was still three states away, and some stranger was stalking him. Worse, the guy was someone that Sam knew and trusted. Dean was certain that Watts wouldn't just up and leave his home and his job to go to Sam unless he had more than a vested interest. Sure, there were good and selfless people in the world, but the Winchesters rarely ran across them. Sam, especially, emitted some kind of beacon that drew the perverts and the assholes to him. Dean didn't know if it was his kid brother's good looks, his innocent face, or his too-trusting nature. Hell, maybe it was a combination of all three. But Dean just knew that something was up with this Watts guy, and if he found out his hunch was right, and Sam got hurt, there'd be no place in Heaven or hell for the guy to hide.

Dean would make sure of that.


	13. Ian Makes His Move

Ian pushed open the door to Sam's room cautiously. glancing around to catch the eye of the boy who was now awake and sitting up in his bed. He smiled disarmingly.

"Hi Sam."

Sam studied him, "Hi, Mr. Watts. Why are you here?"

Ian flinched a bit from Sam's cold tone. He put both hands up in a surrendering gesture and stopped at the door. "I'm just here to help. I swear."

Sam remained silent.

"I can leave? Should I leave? I don't want to overstep my place here, Sam, but when the hospital called me, and I realized you must not have anyone else …"

Sam's eyes narrowed, "The hospital called you? Why?"

Ian approached the bed and leaned against the window sill of the small room. "They said you were unconscious clutching your phone. Said mine was the only contact in it."

"So … you said you were my uncle? Why? Why did you tell them my name was Sean?"

Ian sighed, looking contrite."It was a spur of the moment decision, Sam. I'm sorry. I was afraid maybe your family was after you. I thought you were running. I thought it would be safer for you if we kept your real name out of it. Maybe that was a mistake. I don't know. I just know that you have so much potential, Sam, and I hated to see you hurt like this."

Sam stared.

Ian sighed. "Well, I'll go clear things up at admissions. And then I'll be on my way, but you know you can call me if you need anything, right? I sort of … I know how it feels, Sam."

"How what feels?"

Ian studied him, "The being alone. My family disowned me too. It's been awhile now, but the ache never really goes away. I made it because one person took an interest. One person cared enough to try and help me, and I gotta tell you, I was a mess. If it hadn't been for him, well. I just thought maybe it was time to pay it forward, you know?"

Sam smiled then, and Ian knew he had him hooked. He moved forward and held out the cup of coffee that he'd stopped and picked up for the boy on the drive over. "Truce? I really do just want to help. And if you don't need me, then I'll be on the next plane back."

Sam took the coffee. "Thank you. I don't really know what you can do to help me, but I appreciate that you want to." He took a sip.

Ian pulled a chair over and sat down. "Well, I mean, do you have a place to stay? Do you have money, Sam? They said at the desk that you had no belongings on you when they found you, just the phone. I'm assuming whoever attacked you took your things. Is that right?"

He nodded.

"Well, if you want, I can help you get established here. Help you find a place to stay, maybe a job? Then I'll head back. I'd just like to know that you're safe. That's all. Someone did that once for me, and I'd like to repay that by helping you."

Sam looked uncomfortable. "I … I don't know."

Ian backed off. "Well, that's okay. Think about it. I'll be in town for a few more days anyway. You already have my number. I think they're planning to release you today, Sam. Where will you go?"

Sam's eyes widened. "Today?"

Ian nodded. "I mean, do you know someone here?"

Sam shook his head. "No. The person who was supposed to meet me never showed. He was supposed to help me get on my feet here."

Ian nodded. "Well, if you want, you're perfectly welcome to come back to the hotel with me for a few days. I'll help you look for an apartment, front you the money for the security deposit and first month's rent, and then you can take it from there. Sound okay?"

Sam shook his head. "I can't take your money."

Ian thought about that. "Well, maybe you could earn it then?"

Sam's eyes narrowed, "How?"

"Be my TA for a week or two. I could sure use help grading papers and planning out my curriculum for next marking period. You wouldn't believe the stack of paperwork I had to bring with me to get a week off, Sam." He grinned.

Sam found his excitement contagious. "Really? A TA?"

Ian nodded, "It'd be like an internship. Look great on a college app. Might also help you get a job."

Sam grinned, "Maybe I could work in a library. That'd be cool."

"You're certainly smart enough for it. So … Deal? They still think I'm your uncle. I'll have you released under my care, and we'll head back to my hotel. It's just around the corner."

Sam nodded slowly, and Ian smiled. He knew the boy really didn't have much of an alternative, after all.

""Good. I'll go see what's happening with your discharge then. Be right back." Ian winked.


	14. The Greatness That is Ash

"How close are you to Silver City, Dean?" Bobby asked, looking over at the information spread out on the computer screen in Ash's lap.

Dean yawned, "Not sure. Maybe a day. Why?"

"Cause you're not gonna like what I have to say. Are you driving?"

"Nah, actually, I pulled over for an hour or two of shut-eye. Couldn't keep my eyes open. Why? Ash found something, didn't he?" Dean sat up on the threadbare bedspread, suddenly wide awake.

Bobby sighed. "You could say that. One Ian Watts, aka Oliver Marshall of Augusta. He's wanted for skipping parole in Georgia, but you're not gonna wanna hear how he ended up in the system to begin with."

"It's something to do with a kid, isn't it?" Dean rubbed a hand over tired eyes. "What is he, a perv?"

"That's perv with a capital "P", Dean. He kidnapped a kid from school. Held him for eight days til he got caught in a speed trap of all things."

"And let me guess. He wasn't just helping the kid with his science project?"

"'Fraid not, son. He was brought up on kidnapping, contributing to the delinquency of a minor, reckless endangerment, aggravated sexual assault, and statutory rape. But the one he went down for was manslaughter."

Dean froze, "Manslaughter? He killed the kid?"

"He did. Said it was unintentional. He went out and left the boy cuffed to a bed. The house mysteriously burned down around him."

Dean was silent, trying to get his thoughts in order. "Bobby, how old was the boy?"

"Kid was sixteen, Dean."

"Fuck! How'd someone like that get a job at a high school in New York?" Dean swore.

"Well, nobody knew. Marshall created a whole new identity for himself as Watts. But Ash knows how to find stuff even the police can't conjure up, apparently."

"Bobby, I hate to ask, but …"

I'm already two hours out, kid, and Ash is with me. What's your twenty?"

Dean expelled a shaky breath in relief. "I'm at the Nestle Inn outside Oklahoma City."

"That's a straight shot south for us. We just crossed into Nebraska. Gonna take us some time to get there though."

"I can't wait for you, Bobby. Soon as I can keep my eyes open again, I'm heading out. Let's make plans to meet in Silver City. I'll call you when I get there."

"Roger that. We'll see you in New Mexico. Ash is working on Watt's credit card trail now. He's got a dozen or so purchases racked up in Silver City, including a hotel - the Bradford. That's on Ferry Park Way."

Dean grinned. "Tell Ash I love him, Bobby, and I'll never make fun of his hair again."

Bobby snorted, "I'll let you tell him that yourself, you idjit, and kid? Keep an eye on your six. This guy ain't no lightweight. He's done hard time - a lot of it. He gets caught, he's going back. Guy has nothing to lose."

Dean swallowed hard. "Got it, Bobby. Thanks."


	15. Abducted

"You know, I talked to a friend back home who rents properties out here, Sam." Ian said, as he wheeled the boy to the hospital exit. "She has one that's actually vacant at the moment. Do you feel up to taking a look before we head to the motel?"

"Really? Sure! That would be almost too convenient. Is it much?"

Ian shrugged, "$800 a month. That's actually pretty cheap for this area, and it's a whole house, nice and private. It would only be $2,400 to move in if you like it."

Sam frowned as he climbed into Ian's Honda. "That's a lot of money, though."

Ian laughed, "It's really not, Sam. Not for first and last month's rent plus security deposit. Just wait til we see it. You might even hate it. Who knows?"

"Okay, sure." Sam smiled, settling comfortably into the front passenger seat. "I appreciate you taking the time to come all the way out here to help me, Mr. Watts."

"You can call me Ian now, Sam. And I don't mind a bit. Like I said, I was a lot like you when I was a kid, and now's my chance to make a difference in someone's life just like they made in mine."

The two fell silent as Ian made the drive to the house he had in mind.

"Feel like some music, Sam? You can pick anything you like?"

Sam smiled, "Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts his cakehole."

Ian frowned, "What?"

Sam laughed, "Just something my brother always says."

Ian glanced sharply in Sam's direction. "You have an older brother?"

Sam nodded.

"Does … does he know where you are?"

"No. He won't show up. Don't worry."

Ian relaxed visibly. "Oh, well good. He's not … not the one who did this?" The man gestured to Sam's broken arm.

"No, that was someone else." Sam said, his voice sounding far away.

"Oh, well. Here we are, I think." Ian pulled into the driveway of a house that was well off the beaten path, and Sam couldn't help but feel disappointed. It looked like someplace he and Dean and John would squat when times got really rough. In fact, Sam would swear it was abandoned. It sat all by itself at the end of a long, lonely road with no neighbors within eyesight.

Sam bet it got spooky out here at night.

Ian could tell that Sam wasn't impressed. "Not much to look at, hunh?" He grimaced. "You wanna see the inside? I have the key?"

"Sure," Sam shrugged, knowing he would hate making his new start in this dump.

"Be careful where you step. Place doesn't look all that safe," Ian said, feigning ignorance as he pretended to unlock the door. They stepped carefully inside.

"Uh, it's pretty much abandoned, isn't it?" Sam noted the roaches scurrying back and forth over the grimy kitchen countertops and the stained carpet in the living room. There was trash waiting for them in every room.

Ian hummed, "Well, it definitely needs work." He conceded, as they stepped into the bedroom at the very back of the house. An ancient metal bed was still set up there, but the linens looked new, Sam thought as he ambled over to examine it more closely.

"What's with the made bed?" Sam looked curiously at Ian, smiling at the weirdness of it all. But then he felt the cuff slip over his good hand and the rough push in the middle of his back that landed him across the monstrosity on his stomach. Before he could wrap his mind around what was happening, Sam felt Ian's body weigh him down on the bed as his arm was pulled up and attached solidly to it's metal-framed headboard.

Sam tried to fight then, but something heavy came down on the back of his head and his world went black.

###

Ian stepped back from the bed and grinned. He couldn't believe it had been this easy. Last night he'd been dreaming about this moment, worrying about everything that might go wrong. And now, here he was, prize in hand.

And Ian did mean prize. Just the thought of having Sam Winchester at his mercy - Sam, easily the best looking kid at Henry Senior High - gave him goosebumps. He took just a moment to revel in the hot anticipation of it all, then he set about flipping the boy over onto his back, stretching out his legs and tying each ankle to a corner of the rickety bedstead. He stood for a moment, trying to decide what to do about the broken arm, but then, reaching a decision, he pulled Sam's arm off his chest and re-positioned it above his head where he was just barely able to cuff the swollen joint to the headboard.

"Gonna hurt like a bitch, Sam. Sorry about that." He mumbled. And that reminded him to fetch the ball gag. Ian didn't think there were any neighbors nearby, but why take chances? A ball gag would nicely stifle any sounds Sam might make.

And Ian planned to force plenty of sounds from the youngest Winchester.

"Best day ever!" the man chuckled, as he headed out to his car to fetch the bag of toys from its trunk.


	16. In the Nick of Time

Dean's first stop was Grant County Memorial Hospital where he inquired about his family friend, Sean Watts. He cursed his luck when he found out the boy's uncle had checked him out the day before Dean arrived.

His next stop was the Bradford on Ferry Park Way. Dean inquired at the desk and found that Watts was staying there alone. But he'd had to get sneaky to find out the room number.

Of course, that didn't mean the man didn't have Sam stashed away up there, bound and gagged and unable to make a sound. So he watched and waited for the teacher to leave, then he searched his room, finding nothing out of the ordinary and no trace of Sam.

That's when Dean settled in to watch and wait.

###

Ian whistled as he stepped from the shower. The warm spray every morning was probably the most rejuvenating thing in Ian's life, well, other than his new relationship with Sam.

He smiled, thinking about the boy.

He looked forward to the time they'd spend together today. Ian was so happy. He hummed as he ran a comb through his wet hair and slipped into a loose pair of joggers and a tee shirt. He practically tripped down the stairs to the first floor lobby, and paused when the desk clerk greeted him and called him over.

"Did your friend find you, sir?" the man asked, smiling.

Ian froze. "Uh, my friend?"

"Yes, the man who was asking about you yesterday. He asked for you by name? Said you were business acquaintances?"

Ian chuckled then, "Oh! Yes, he did. That was quite a surprise."

"Well, he wanted your room number, but of course we don't give out that information."

"And I thank you for that. Did he ask you anything else? Anything embarrassing? We're old college roommates, and Rob seems to enjoy causing me problems." Ian snorted.

The man smiled, understanding. "That would explain why he wanted to know if you had a young man with you, sir."

Ian threw back his head and laughed. "That sounds just like Rob."

But as the man turned and made his way quietly to his car, his heart weighed heavily in his chest.

Someone was looking after all.

Someone had tracked Sam to this place, to Ian, and that meant only one thing.

Ian's time with Sam was over.

It was the brother, had to be. Ian thought as he stopped and filled up the small gas can he kept in his trunk. Inside the convenience store, he purchased a cup of coffee, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He tossed the cigarettes in the trash can beside his car and climbed behind the wheel. He pointed his car toward Sam, tears streaking his face at the thought of what he had to do.

Dean followed along behind the man at a discreet distance. And a discreet distance behind Dean came Bobby and Ash. The small caravan headed for a deserted corner of town that became more and more secluded at the road wound on, and Dean began to realize that Watts was leading them to wherever he'd left Sam.

The older boy was forced to drop farther and farther back as the road became more and more narrow. Finally, he let the Honda drop out of sight completely every now and again, only just catching up to where he could see it when he felt the panic beginning to build. But the final time that Dean dropped back and then accelerated to catch up, the Honda was gone. And Dean drove on for a good three miles before realizing Watts must have pulled off somewhere and taken one of several old roads that splintered off to the right.

###

Ian climbed hurriedly out of the car and popped the trunk. He carried the gasoline can to the house and began splashing it over the old wood siding. He concentrated his efforts under the window of Sam's room. Looking inside, he saw the boy lying stretched out and motionless where he'd left him cuffed to the bed. But when the boy smelled the gasoline, Ian saw his fear ramp up. The kid was blindfolded and cuffed and tied down, but still he fought as the smell of gas rose up and seeped under the windowsill.

Ian emptied the whole 2-gallon can and stashed it back inside the trunk before standing back and using the lighter to set a napkin ablaze. He dropped the napkin beneath Sam's window and backed away, watching as the boy began to realize what was happening. He saw Sam buck and twist and arch as he tried to free himself from the burning room, and he heard him scream behind his gag.

Then the flames licked over the window sill, and Ian turned and ran. He spun his car around and rocketed down the old dirt road just as an old black muscle car blew past him. Ian didn't stop to look to see who crouched behind the wheel as the driver suddenly accelerated toward the burning house.

###

Dean saw the house ablaze and smelled the smoke and knew instantly what Watts had done.

"… _he left the kid cuffed to a bed and went out. The house mysteriously burned down around him …"_

Dean was out of the car and inside the house in an instant, but he'd underestimated just how out-of-control the blaze already burned.

"Sammy!" He yelled, pulling his tee shirt up over his nose and moving left through the house.

"Saaaaaam!" He screamed again, hearing a muffled scream in reply.

"Sam!" Dean briefly registered his brother's gag and blindfold before his eyes fell on the sturdy metal cuffs that fastened him securely to the bed. Pieces of the ceiling were already falling in around them, as Dean cut the ropes at Sam's feet and snatched off his gag and blindfold. Sam's eyes widened when he saw his brother and the desperate state of the room.

"Dean! Get out! You have to go, now!"

"Not leaving you, Sammy," Dean growled as he kicked viciously at the foot of the ancient bedstead, and the rusty metal foot board broke off in one piece.

"Close your eyes, Sam!" Dean yelled as he aimed a kick at the metal of the headboard. It took three tries, but the abused metal finally broke free, and Dean grabbed Sam, metal headboard and all, and propelled him toward the door.

The two brothers burst out into the yard just as the whole left side of the house crashed in right over the room where Sam had been restrained moments earlier. Sam collapsed to the ground with a gasp of pain and lay there awkwardly, his arms still secured to the metal posts.

"Hang on, Sammy." Dean whispered comfortingly, as he worked to pick the lock that cut cruelly into the swollen flesh of Sam's broken arm. "I got you. It's okay now. You're safe, little brother."

Dean got the first cuff undone and helped Sam re-position his broken arm against his chest as he went to work on the second cuff. Minutes later, Sam was free, and Dean tried not to notice that his brother wore only his boxers and nothing else. "Come on, Sammy. Let's get you in the car." Dean helped the younger boy to rise and limp over to the old Impala. Once he was seated comfortably in the passenger seat, Dean moved to the trunk and pulled out a lightweight blanket. He brought it back and draped it comfortably across his brother to hide his nakedness. He crouched there in front of him, then, stroking his hair comfortingly, and crooning quietly.

That's how Bobby and Ash found them moments later.

"You get him?" Dean asked gruffly without looking up.

"Got him," Bobby answered, taking in Sam's condition and wishing he'd killed the man instead of just taking him hostage. "He's in the trunk."


	17. Disassociating

Dean sat studying his little brother as he huddled silently in the front seat of the Impala. Sam wouldn't look at him, wouldn't meet Dean's eyes with his own. And the kid couldn't stop shivering even though it was early July and hotter than Hades.

Dean nestled comforting fingers in Sam's short hair. Damn, he would never get used to his little brother minus his long, trademark locks. It felt like loss to Dean; he could only imagine how it must feel to Sam.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean asked softly, trying to look into his brother's eyes.

Sam just nodded, his eyes downcast.

Dean placed a hand on his little brother's cheek. "Hey, you know, whatever … whatever happened, whatever that bastard did … that's on him, Sammy. Not you. You know that right?"

"Sure feels like it's on me," Sam whispered brokenly, a single tear escaping and slipping silently down his face to land on Dean's thumb.

"Yeah? Well, it's not. I mean it, Sam. Don't you dare feel … embarrassed or … or ashamed or anything crazy like that. You hear me? You're still my pain-in-the-ass little brother, and nothing anywhere is ever gonna change that."

Sam sat silent.

Dean leaned in and pulled his brother into a gentle hug. "So here's what gonna happen, okay? I got us a nice clean hotel room. We're gonna go back there, and you're gonna get a long, lovely shower, and use up all the towels on your hair like a good princess should. Then I'm gonna order whatever you want to eat, and then you can sleep for a week if you want. Whaddaya say, little brother? Sound good?"

Sam nodded.

"Unless you think you need a hospital, Sam." Dean tried to catch his brother's eye again. "Do you need a hospital?"

Sam looked up then, eyes wide and desperate. No!. No hospital. I'm … I'm fine."

"How about this arm? You think it needs reset? I bumped it pretty good when I kicked that headboard." Dean ran a hand gently over his brother's cast.

"No, I think it's okay. I doesn't hurt anymore. It hurt for so long …" Sam cut himself off, not wanting to whine.

Dean smiled, "It's okay, Sammy. I wanna hear anything you need to talk about, okay? I mean it. You've been through a lot. It's not healthy to keep it all inside. Let that shit out. You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Sam turned his head away, "I don't want to talk about it, Dean."

Dean's eyes teared then. "I missed you, Sammy. Damn. I didn't even realize how much til I got you back. Don't you do that shit again. You hear me?"

The older boy turned to Bobby, "Hey Bobby? I know it's asking a lot, but do you think you and Ash can handle …" He nodded toward Bobby's trunk.

"Hell yeah. Can't wait to get my hands on the bastard. He turned to Ash. "You okay with this, Ash?"

Ash nodded, "Got my camcorder; got my laptop. I say let's engage in a little constructive pummeling, recorded for posterity." He swung long hair back and fist-bumped empty air.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "I think that was a yes."

"It was." Ash agreed.

Bobby placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, "It's good to see you, son. You had us all real worried."

Sam placed his good hand over top of Bobby's. "Thanks, Bobby." He whispered, without looking up.

The old hunter exchanged a haunted glance with Dean, and then pulled away. "We'll meet you back at the hotel in two hours." He promised. "Now let's the hell out of here before the fire trucks start rollin' in."

###

Dean slid his keycard through the slot and pushed the door open. "Keycard, Sammy. We're traveling with a whole new class of people now." He smiled.

Sam remained silent, pushing through the door and letting his blanket drop to the carpet. He made a beeline for the bathroom, and Dean heard the lock snick.

The older boy sighed and flopped down on the nearest bed. They were going to get through this, but Dean was sure Sam would need therapy of some kind. Carrying that kind of pain around inside you, that just wasn't healthy. And Dean knew Sam would rather take another beating than burden his brother with whatever vile things that bastard had done to him.

Dean lay back then, the week's events falling heavy on his heart. He was so exhausted that he suddenly couldn't keep his eyes open. He drifted off to the comforting sound of the shower running in the bath, knowing that his little brother was finally home and safe. Dean smiled.

###

Sam emerged tentatively from the bathroom, realizing too late that he had no clothes to wear. He sighed in relief when he realized Dean was asleep. Knowing his brother wouldn't mind, Sam raided the duffle bag that rested beside Dean on the bed, pulling out clean boxers and sweats. He pulled them on and then rummaged a little deeper for the bottle of prescription painkillers Dean always seemed to have on hand. Shaking out two, he moved to the sink and drew a cup of water. Downing both pills and hoping they'd help him have a dreamless sleep. Sam peeled back the covers on his bed and climbed in. He was unconscious in minutes.

###

It was the knock on the door that woke Dean a half-hour later. Sitting up, he realized the bathroom door was open and the light off. He glanced over to his brother's bed and saw blond hair peeking out from under the covers. He shook his head. First chance he got, he was buying a damned box of hair dye.

Dean moved to the door, squinting into the peephole.

"Hi Bobby. Ash." He stepped back to let the men enter.

"Job's done, bro." Ash informed him, patting his camcorder. "If you ever wanna see? Got your double feature right here."

Dean smiled. Ash was a trip.

"So how is he?" Bobby asked, glancing over to the Sam-sized lump resting under the covers.

"Sleeping, I think. I nodded off myself." Dean ran a hand across his face.

"Cause you look like ten miles of rough road, dude." Ash noted helpfully, glancing around for somewhere to plug in his laptop.

"Thanks." Dean glared.

"So, sustenance?" the hacker blurted. "Pizza? roast pig? Cause I could put away three or four. Seriously."

Bobby stared, "You always think with your stomach? Cause I'm sure I saw you put away two burgers not three hours ago."

Ash slithered under the desk, charger in hand, "What can I say? It's take a lot of calories to fuel a cranium of this caliber." He offered, his voice muffled by the carpet.

Bobby snorted, "All that and humility too."

Dean grinned. "Well, I could eat."

Bobby's eyes rolled, "Between the two of you …"

"Let me see what Sam wants and then we'll order or something." Dean moved to the far side of the bed and placed a hand gently on his brother's arm, shaking him gently awake. "Hey, Sammy …" He started.

And that was as far as he got as Sam's fist connected firmly with his face. Dean was caught off-guard and fell back on his ass with a whump. Sam landed on him then, feral and determined. He leaned his full weight on the cast that he held to Dean's neck, effectively choking the older boy.

"You want more of Sammy?" The younger boy asked through gritted teeth, staring down at Dean with undisguised hatred. "You liked making him scream? Making him beg, you worthless motherfucker? Well you're dealing with me now, and I'm not letting you hurt him ever again. I'll kill you before I let you hurt him again. You hear me? I. will. kill. you." Sam growled like a caged animal.

Bobby and Ash shot forward and pulled the younger boy off his brother. They tugged him backward, and Dean could see Sam's face change - fury replaced by sudden terror.

"Wait!" Dean coughed out hoarsely, "Wait! You're scaring him! Sammy!"

Just as quickly as it started, Sam went limp, his body a dead weight in the hunters' arms. His eyes rolled back and he was out. Just like that.

Bobby and Ash placed him gently on the other bed, and Dean was on him in an instant, gently slapping his face. "Sammy! Sammy, talk to me."

Sam groaned.

"Come on, Sam. wake up for me."

Sam's eyes fluttered, "What … what happened, Dean?" He sounded terrified.

Dean stared into eyes that were suddenly much more recognizable than they had been just a moment earlier. "Sammy. You okay?"

Sam looked around, "Yeah. I … how did I get over here? I was in the other bed …" his voice trailed off and confused eyes met Dean's. "Why'd you move me?"

"I … " Dean trailed off. He could tell Sam had no recollection of what had just happened. He forced a smile, "It's nothing, Sam. You just had a dream is all. Had us worried."

Sam winced, "My head hurts."

Dean helped him sit up. "Maybe you're hungry. We were just gonna order. Wanted to see what you wanted.

Sam sat on the bed, thinking. He suddenly realized he hadn't eaten in days. He smiled at Dean. "Everything. I think I want everything."

Bobby snorted. "And we're three for three."

Dean grinned. "You heard the man. Order one of everything."


	18. Liz

Dean awoke to soft fingers combing his hair. Fighting the impulse to reach for his knife first and ask questions later, he lay still and tense until he realized that it was Sam who knelt by his bed whispering softly.

"Dean. Are you awake?"

Dean opened his eyes and sat up, legs dangling over the edge of the bed.

"Yeah, Sammy. I'm awake. You okay?" He asked, concerned.

Sam smiled shyly. "Can I have a hug?"

Dean hid his shock. Sam hadn't asked for a hug since he was six years old and still afraid of the dark. He smiled and opened his arms, inviting Sam to climb between them. "Of course, Sammy."

And Sam did. He stood on his knees between his brother's legs and wrapped shaking arms around Dean's strong waist.

And Dean smiled, reciprocating. He encircled Sam's slight shoulders in a warm embrace that transcended the years and all the things that had happened between them. He closed his eyes, and he was ten years old again, tucking a wriggling Sam into bed in a room that smelled like the lilac bushes that grew thick outside Bobby's bedroom window.

"I missed you, Sammy." Dean whispered, smiling with the memory.

Sam chuckled, his voice high-pitched. "I'm sorry. Dean. I didn't mean to trick you."

Dean drew back and looked into his brother's face. "What do you mean?"

Sam smiled a smile that wasn't his and spoke in a voice Dean had never before heard. "Sam's sleeping. Let's not wake him. The kid's been through too much lately."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Dean. I just wanted to see what the fuss was all about. You're all Sam thinks about, you know. And now that I see you, I think I understand why." Sam ran soft hands up and down Dean's arms. "You're all green eyes and muscle. Although that's not what Sam sees when he looks at you. Sam sees this mix between the god Zeus and Batman or something. Do you know that you're his hero, Dean?" The younger boy gazed at Dean steadily, and if Dean didn't know better, he'd swear he was talking to a female.

He blinked. "Sammy, wake up. You're dreaming."

"Shhh. You'll wake him. He needs his sleep. I just wanted to take the opportunity to meet the big brother who hung the moon." Sam grinned a grin that Dean had never seen.

"What? Sam … who …?"

"I'm Liz." Sam said in a perfectly sound imitation of a woman's voice. And then he giggled. "I just wanted to thank you for coming for him. He was so sad." Sam turned serious. "He cried everyday, Dean, and I'm not talking the soft, smothered sounds he used to make whenever Dad beat him. I'm talking full-blown sobs. Sam didn't like what was happening to him. Not a bit."

"Dad never beat Sam." Dean answered, and then caught himself. Damn, the kid was a convincing woman. "I mean. He never beat you, did he, Sam?"

Liz looked serious, "Oh Dean. You have no idea. Dad beat Sammy for years - from the time he started kindergarten, in fact. Had to turn the littlest Winchester into a man, after all."

Dean stared at his brother, not believing. "Sammy, you're dreaming." he repeated.

Liz looked surprised. "I thought you'd believe me. It's important that you believe me. Do you want proof?"

Dean nodded, too stunned to think of a reply.

"How long has it been since you've seen Sam without his shirt on, Dean? Years, am I right? Did you ever wonder why? Why even on the hottest days, Sam always wears a tee shirt? It's because of Dad's beatings. Look." And Liz turned around and slipped Sam's tee shirt over his head, leaving Dean to study the assortment of old scars that littered the boy's back and disappeared down the waistband of his sweats.

The older boy gasped. "Oh, Sam. Oh shit. Sammy!" The scars were obviously old. They had healed over in a rough configuration that criss-crossed Sam's back. Some of them had been obviously and crudely stitched toward the end where they reached around his sides, and Dean could suddenly picture all those times he'd come home from a late night date or a night at the bar and found Sam locked in the bathroom, unwilling to talk. He'd just chalked it up to puberty, but now … now it all made sense. It made perfect, sickening sense.

He reached out and ran a gentle hand over the worst of the scars. It ran in a diagonal,vertical line between Sam's shoulder blades and ended just above his waist. It was at least two inches wide, the skin rough and disfigured.

Liz gasped as Dean's fingers followed the cruel line down. "Usually Dad used his belt. But that day he was still in his boxers when Sam was bad. So he just grabbed a knife and cut the cord off the TV and used it instead. Do you remember that day, Dean? You came home from school all set to watch game shows, and the cord was gone. Dad blamed it on Sam, said he'd been rough housing and stepped on the cord and pulled it out. And you got mad and gave the kid the cold shoulder for a solid week. But in reality, Sam was home sick from school that day. He had a fever, but Dad found him sitting up in his bed later, playing with army men. Dad thought he was faking, and that just wasn't The Winchester Way."

Dean felt his gorge rising. He did remember. And he had been angry at Sam. The kid didn't get out of bed for three days that time, and Dean thought he had been faking too.

But now, he knew differently. He turned Sam back around and gazed at him intently.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He growled, hating himself.

"Sam didn't tell you, Dean, because Dad convinced him you wouldn't love him anymore if you knew how he cried and begged during his punishments. Dad made him feel ashamed. Made him feel like he was weak. He told Sam you were strong, and that weakness was the one thing you wouldn't tolerate. It made sense at the time. Sam was only 7, after all. Later, he realized that Dad had been lying, but by then, he didn't see the need to hurt you with his deep, dark secret."

Dean sat still, shaken to his core, as Liz moved around him and stretched out on the bed on her back. He flinched as she began tracing lazy circles on his back with her good hand.

"You're so strong, Dean." She smiled. "Sam has never been strong like you. He tried, but there were just too many circumstances, too many people against him. Eventually, he retreated, and that's when I would step in. Whenever Dad got too rough, when the pain got too bad, I stepped up and took over. Sam has never let me out on my own, though. Not like this. Not like tonight. It took the science teacher to make that happen, I guess." She began humming lazily. It was one of Dean's classic rock songs that he played in the Impala from time to time.

Dean turned around and faced the person who lay on the bed behind him. If he closed his eyes, he could easily imagine that he was talking to a woman. It was hard to reconcile the voice and the expression that were completely female with his little brother's features. "So … you've been with Sam since … since he was a kid?"

She nodded. "I have. Surprised?"

It was Dean's turn to nod. "Then why now? I mean …"

She suddenly looked sad. "Even with everything that Dad did to Sammy, none of it prepared him for what that science teacher did." Her eyes filled with tears. "He cried so hard, Dean. It was heartbreaking. And that … that … beast loved it. He loved every minute of it."

Dean tried to smother the whimper before it left his throat but failed.

Liz nodded. "I know. Sam didn't deserve that. Not at all. He hated every second of it."

Dean swallowed hard, knowing he had to ask but hating the answer. "Can you … I mean … what happened … back there? Can you tell me?"

She shook her head. "It's too painful to think about. I tried to step in. To take some of the pain away, but he wouldn't let me. It's like he was punishing himself. I think he felt guilty over leaving you behind." She sat up then and gazed at Dean intently. "He thought he was doing the right thing, Dean. He really did. He was so afraid that Dad would make you hurt him worse than you already had. But he missed you so much, and he could tell you were hurting. It was the fear, Dean. That's all. Sam never wanted to hurt you."

Tears slipped from the corners of Dean's eyes. "Please tell me? I have to know so I can … I can help him."

Liz was crying openly now. "Sam would hate me for telling you that. I mean. Me? I like it a little rough. But I could tell that Sam … he didn't. Not a bit."

Dean was so lost, even a street map wouldn't help him now. He could barely speak. "You … " he started then stopped. "How do …?"

"What, Dean?"

The older boy buried his face in his hands. "I don't know. I don't even know what I …"

Liz leaned in and placed her head on Dean's shoulder, covering his hand with her own. "It's okay, Dean. There was nothing you could do. You got there in time to save him, and that's the most important thing. Sam's alive because of you."

Dean sat holding tight to his little brother's hand, crying in great, wrenching sobs until the boy stirred and raised his head. He looked over at Dean, his face a mask of concern.

"Dean? What's wrong?" He asked anxiously, sliding over to sit in front of Dean instead of beside him. He looked around confused. "What happened? Did I … did I have another nightmare? I didn't hit you, did I?" Sam's concern was fast reaching panic.

Dean realized then that he was talking to his brother. He grabbed the boy in a tight embrace and pulled him close. "I'm so sorry, Sammy." He apologized. "I'm so sorry. I failed you so many damned times. Please forgive me." He hugged the boy like he would never let him go.

"Dean? What? What are you talking about? And how did I get here? Dean's what's happening?"

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Thanks to everyone who's stopping by to read and to comment. This story is sort of mutating along the way, so I'll change the summary as soon as I find the road map :) The rating remains the same. There won' t be Wincest. Thank you for sticking along for the ride._


	19. No Memory

Dean sat behind the wheel, trying to remember how he thought this day was going to feel. He remembered how badly he'd wanted Sammy beside him again, taking up his usual spot in the passenger seat of the classic car, but now …

Now Dean was as terrified as he'd ever been. Something was wrong with Sam. Like seriously wrong.

And Dean had no damned idea how to fix it.

Or even if it could be fixed.

He sneaked a glance at his brother and damn near jumped out of his skin to find Sam staring straight back at him. He smiled awkwardly then looked away.

"Dean, stop it."

:Hunh? Stop what?"

"Stop … that. That … sneaking glances at me thing like you're afraid of me or something. What's up with you?"

"What are you talking about, Sammy? I'm not afraid of you. I'm just worried about you is all. And that hair ain't helping. Every time I look over, it's like I'm seein' a stranger all over again. Makes me wanna reach for my knife every ten minutes. Just takes some gettin' used to is all."

Sam snickered. "So you don't like the hair?" he teased.

"Hell no. You don't look like you. You look like some … some … boy band wannabe."

Sam snorted, "Bet Dad would like it. He was always hung up on my hair."

Dean cringed at the mention of their father. He'd gone from loving the man to hating him in the space of an hour. It still felt surreal.

"Hey, Sammy … I … " Dean still had no idea how to apologize for missing so much when Sam had needed him so badly.

"You what, Dean?"

"I'm so sorry, man."

Sam looked confused.

"About what?"

"About, you know … Dad. I … should have caught on. I should have protected you. I'm so sorry I … I missed it, Sammy."

Sam swallowed nervously, "What … what are you talking about?" His voice was suddenly filled with … was it fear?

Dean looked over and studied his brother for a moment, noting how his breathing had kicked up. His eyes looked scared, like he'd just put a scratch on the Impala and was waiting for Dean to find out.

"You know, Sam. Dad … beating you all those years. I should have known. I should have stopped it."

Sam frowned, "Dad never beat me, Dean. Well, until the other week. What are you talking about?"

Dean gazed at his brother sharply. "You told me Dad beat you."

"What? When?"

"Last night. You know. When you … you got back up."

Sam stared at Dean like he'd lost his mind. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Dean."

"You said Dad beat you for years - since you were five. He beat you with his belt and with the TV cord. Sam, you don't remember tellin' me any of that?"

Sam stared. "Dean, you been drinkin'?"

Dean was quiet. He didn't remember. He didn't remember any of it.

"Sammy, who's Liz?"

"Hunh?"

"Who's Liz?"

Dean looked over and Sam was doing his best "I have no idea what you're going on about" stare.

"I give, Dean. Who is Liz?"

"Last night. You told me your name was Liz and that Dad had beat you for years, except you kept talking about yourself in the third person. Sam, you showed me the scars on your back. How can you not remember any of that?"

"I told you my name was Liz? Like a woman, Liz?"

Dean nodded.

"Right, Dean. What is this? Just another way of you callin' me a girl again?" Sam turned toward the window, pissed. "I don't need this shit right now."

Dean glanced over again, "Hey, just forget it okay? You were dreaming, I guess. I'm not picking on you, Sam. Honest. I wouldn't. Not after everything you've just been through."

Sam was silent, but Dean could feel him seething from across the seat.

"You know, just because that … that … because he … did that stuff to me. It doesn't make me a girl, Dean. That was a pretty shitty thing to say." Sam sounded like he was trying not to cry. "It's not like I could do anything to stop it. He had me ch-chained to the fucking bed." Sam sniffed, glaring out the window.

Dean's eyes went wide, and he swung the car over onto the shoulder in a shower of flying gravel. He shoved the car in park, and turned to face his brother.

"Sammy, no way in hell would I ever say something like that, or even think it for that matter. You have to know that. What happened wasn't your fault." Dean pleaded. "I would never make light of everything that you've been through. Never."

Silence.

"Sam, look at me, please? Let's just forget it, okay? You were talking in your sleep, I guess. I thought you were awake, but you couldn't have been."

"Sam?"

"Sammy, please? I wouldn't do that. Wouldn't ever say something like that. Not to you."

"It's fine, Dean. Just forget it." Sam still wouldn't look at him.

"I really am sorry."

Sam shrugged. "Forget it, Dean. Okay?" He sounded tired suddenly.

Dean leaned back against the seat, sighing. "Yeah, okay. You tired Sammy? Wanna stop for awhile? It's still a long way to Bobby's."

Sam nodded, "Yeah, maybe. Might be good to stretch my legs."

Dean pulled back out into traffic. "Okay, next exit we see we'll get off, get something to eat."


	20. Breakdown

Sam sat across from his brother in the diner booth, feeling jumpier by the minute. This feeling was new to him, and it was … disconcerting.

Sam didn't really understand where it was coming from.

"I'll have the breakfast for dinner thingy with a side of bacon and coffee, black." Dean smiled up the waitress, handing back his menu.

But when the waitress turned to Sam, he was suddenly mute. His eyes roved over the menu anxiously, unable to decide on any one thing.

Well, what's it gonna be, honey?" the waitress prompted, tapping her pen to her pad.

Sam felt the panic beginning to build. "Uh …"

He looked from photo to photo, glancing over the descriptions of each. "Uh …" Sam felt his face turning pink. He glanced up at Dean helplessly.

Dean heard the indecision in his brother's voice and looked up to rag on him, but then he saw Sam staring back at him in near-panic mode, and felt his heart contract painfully.

Sam sat in the diner booth with his face bright pink, mouth open, staring at Dean like he needed rescued.

"Sammy? What's up?" Dean leaned forward anxiously, staring into his brother's eyes. "You okay?"

"Dean … I … I don't know what … I … I can't …" Sam tipped his head toward the menu helplessly.

Dean got it. "Oh, okay. Here, let me see." He rescued the laminated menu from Sam's hands, instantly noticing the sweat slicking the edges. He glanced over it easily and then smiled up at the waitress again. "He'll have the grilled chicken salad with the dressing on the side and a sweet tea." He tossed in a wink to apologize for the delay.

She grinned down. "Sure thing, sweetie. Be right back with your drinks."

When she moved quickly away, Dean stole a glance at his little brother. The boy looked like he was going to throw up. The bright pink had faded to a pale gray. Even Sam's lips looked corpse-like. Dean reached a hand over and placed it comfortingly over Sam's own. "It's cool, Sammy. I think you just had a little panic attack or something. You okay?"

Sam met Dean's eyes, looking ashamed. He nodded once, miserably.

"Hey, you can talk to me. What's going on in that geek brain of yours?"

Sam shook his head, swallowing hard. "Don't know. Just feel …"

Dean waited. "Feel what?"

"Weird. Anxious. Like something's gonna happen." Sam looked away.

"Something bad?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I feel sick, Dean. Be right back."

Dean started to rise. "I'll go with."

"No!" Sam stood up. "I'm fine, really. I'll just be a minute. Need some air."

"Well, stay where I can see you, okay?"

Sam nodded as he bolted for the front door. Outside, he took a deep breath and stood leaning over the railing that bordered the handicapped ramp. He could feel Dean's concerned eyes on him as he felt the rush of nausea peak. He dove for the side of building and fell to his knees beside the dumpster as everything he'd eaten that morning came up in one violent heave.

He'd barely made it to his knees before Dean was there beside him, warm hand rubbing circles on his back, soft voice whispering comforting words in his ear.

"S'okay little brother. I got you. Let it all out."

Sam groaned as tremors wracked him. He sat doubled over, his good arm wrapped tightly around his waist, and when he suddenly felt faint and started to nose dive right into his own mess, it was Dean's strong arms around his middle that pulled him safely back.

"I got you, Sammy. You're okay." Dean chanted as they rested against the cold metal of the dumpster, Sam's back to Dean's chest.

"Ugh," Sam gasped out. "I think I'm dying."

Dean chuckled, "You're not dying, kid. Not on my watch."

"Seriously, Dean. Whatever the hell that was. Damn. I hope it never happens again."

Dean was serious as he brushed sweaty hair back from his brother's forehead. "It's just nerves, Sam. After everything you've been through lately, it's no wonder you feel weird about being in a strange place."

Sam just groaned and lay lifeless against his brother.

"Did that help? Are you feeling better after?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I think."

"Wanna head to the car, and I'll get our food to go?"

The younger boy nodded again.

"Okay, come on, Sasquatch." Dean rose, pulling Sam to his feet. "Into the car you go. I'll be out in a minute."

Sam paused, "You're gonna let us eat in the car?"

Dean grinned. "Don't get used to it. And if you hurl in my car, man. I'll kill you."

Sam smiled weakly and stumbled off toward the direction of the Impala. Dean watched until he was safely settled into the passenger seat and then he headed back inside to ask the waitress to bag up their order.

When he returned to the car, bags in hand, Sam was leaning against the door, eyes closed.

"You awake over there?"

Sam groaned.

"I guess that's a yes." Dean chuckled, pushing a bag across the seat and setting in behind the wheel. "You hungry at all?"

"Maybe in a bit."

"Well here, maybe the tea will help. It's nice and cold."

Sam's eyes shot open, and he reached for the tea gratefully, taking a long sip from the straw that Dean had thoughtfully unwrapped and stabbed down into the cup. "Thanks! This is perfect." Then he was overcome with guilt. "You can't eat pancakes and drive at the same time, Dean."

Dean shrugged, "You're underestimating my skills."

Sam glanced around and noticed a picnic table not far from the car. It was neatly positioned under a shade tree and away from general traffic. Sam actually thought it looked inviting. He pointed. "How about there?"

Dean glanced up, "You sure?" he asked, realizing he was suddenly hesitant to handle syrup inside his baby.

Sam reached for the bag Dean had offered and opened his car door. "Yeah, come on. I know you're hungry. This will be fine."

The two carried their food to the table and settled down comfortably, Dean wolfing down his meal and Sam picking at his salad and sipping on his tea. "Thanks for … uh … you know, ordering for me."

Dean smiled, "Is it okay?"

Sam nodded, "Just what I like. The tea is amazing."

"Cool."

"Sorry, you know, if I … uh … embarrassed you." Sam flushed again.

Dean looked up, frowning. "You didn't. Why'd you say that?"

"Dunno." Sam shrugged.

Dean shrugged back. "You know I don't give a rat's ass what people think, Sam. Especially not over you. You're the only thing that matters." He returned to his bacon.

And suddenly Sam's eyes were filled with tears. He looked down at his salad in embarrassment, hoping Dean wouldn't notice. But when he felt the sobs coming on, he rested his forehead in his good hand, using it to hide his face as he tried to cry silently.

Dean looked up to see why Sam was suddenly so quiet and saw the boy's shoulders shaking as he tried to hold back great, wracking sobs.

"Shit, Sam. What's wrong?" Dean's plate was forgotten as he stared at the distressed boy before him.

Sam just shook his head, saying nothing.

"Tell me. Come on. You're killing me here." Dean pleaded.

"Stop being so nice to me." Sam blurted out between sobs.

"What? Why?"

"Because I don't … don't deserve it. Not anymore." He hitched.

Dean stared, "Why would you say something like that?"

"Be-because it's true, Dean. I'm … I'm dirty now. I'm … I'm filthy. How can you even s-stand to be near me?"

Suddenly it felt like Dean's dinner was going to put in a reappearance, as his shocked mind worked to digest the self-hatred that spewed from his little brother's mouth.

"I-I know everyone can s-see it. I c-can feel their eyes on me. They know, D-dean."

Dean searched for words. "What, Sammy? What do they know?"

The older boy had to strain to hear what Sam replied in a whisper. "What he did to me. I can s-still feel it. All of it. It shows. I kn-know it d-does. I hate it! I hate him!" Sam stood up and swept his food and drink to the ground.

"Why did he do that! Why did he think I deserved that? Why, Dean?" Sam fell to his knees for the second time in an hour as the pitiful plea escaped his mouth in a heartbreaking whine, "Why?' I just wanna die, Dean. Why couldn't you just let me die?" Sam buried his face in his hands.

And then Dean was on the ground beside him, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Don't ever say that, Sam! Don't you ever! It's never been like that. You're not dirty. You're not … not filthy. Don't you ever think stuff like that, you hear me?"

Sam groaned, sobbing into Dean's shoulder.

"He was the filthy one, Sammy. He was the … the fucking pig. And I swear I wish I had him here right now to kill him all over again. He got what he deserved, Sam. And he's never gonna hurt another kid like he hurt you. You're the one that stopped him. You hear me? You stopped that monster."

Dean shook his brother gently. "Don't you ever say you wanna die again, okay? Cause if you die, I die too. All those weeks looking for you, Sammy, and thinking you might be lying somewhere hurt or … or dead. I could never survive that again. You understand? Never! So don't you go saying you want that. Not ever!"


	21. Needs

They were about two hours out from Bobby's house when Dean's heart took another hit. Sam awoke from his nap, smiled over at his brother oddly, and then moved in close. He snuggled up next to dean and threaded the fingers of his good hand through his brother's. Then he gave a contented sigh and dropped his head on the older boy's shoulder.

Dean froze like a deer in headlights.

"Sammy? You okay, buddy?"

"Never been better." Sam chirped. "You feel good, Dean. Warm, like a cozy oven. You're cuddly. I like that."

Dean was quiet for the space of a heartbeat before speaking. "Liz?"

"Hm?"

"Uh, why are you here?"

She yawned and stretched luxuriously. "Sam was sleeping. He's not feeling so well today. I just wanted to say hello. I'm beginning to enjoy spending time with you, you know? I'm not sure Sam realizes how lucky he is to have a big brother like you." She beamed up at him with a sexy grin.

Or what would have been a sexy grin if it wasn't originating from his little brother's face and aiming straight at Dean.

The older boy tried to suppress a shudder, but Liz felt it, and her eyes narrowed.

"You don't like me much, do you?"

Dean was careful in his answer. "Well, you're a part of my baby brother, so yeah. How could I not like you?"

She seemed satisfied with that answer, settling back down on his shoulder.

"Uh, can I ask you something though?"

"Sure, baby."

Dean's eyes closed momentarily, and he swallowed hard. "What makes you, uh, you know … appear?"

"Sammy was feeling scared and overwhelmed again, I guess. I just want to wrap him up in a big hug when he starts feeling that way. So I sort of tuck him into a corner with a blanket and let him sleep while I handle things."

"So you come out when you want to protect him? When he feels threatened?"

She nodded.

"So what happens if Sam … if he gets over feeling that way? What if he learns how to cope with his emotions instead of panicking?"

"Well, then he wouldn't need me anymore, silly." She gazed up at him. "Why? Would you miss me?"

Dean shrugged.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Dean tensed. He checked the mirrors before pulling the car over to the shoulder. Then he pulled Liz off his shoulder and looked into her eyes. "No."

She pouted. "Why not? You said you liked me?" She reached out to trace a hand along his jawline, but he caught it and pulled it away.

"I said no." He repeated not unkindly. "That's not going to happen."

"But, I'm attracted to you, you know. You're so strong and kind, and you take care of us so nicely."

"But you're a part of my brother, and that would be wrong. Do you understand that?" Dean gazed into Sam's eyes, trying to connect with the boy inside. "Sammy? Can you hear me?"

She made an angry face. "I have needs, Dean. Just because I live in this body. It doesn't mean I don't have needs of my own." She scooted back to sit by the window. "If you won't play, I'll find someone else who will."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean, exactly?"

She pouted. "I'll just go find another handsome young buck. That's what."

Dean tried not to lose patience. "You do that, and you'll hurt Sam. I thought it was your job to protect him?"

"Oh pooh. Sammy won't even know. I'll put him to bed first."

Dean tried not to hyperventilate. "Have you … have you done that before? Put Sam to sleep while you … you played?"

She sighed, exasperated. "I told you before, Dean. I've never been allowed out alone like this. Not til the other night. But now that Sam's giving me some leg room, I'm liking it more and more."

"You said you liked it rough, right?"

She grinned, scooting back over. "Maybe? Why? Do you like it rough?"

"No. I don't." He said coldly. "And neither does Sam. You do realize you'd be using his body?"

She was quiet.

"So, if you go out and you find someone to … to play with … it's Sam who's going to take the brunt of it all. You really think that's a good idea?"

She gazed out the window, refusing to answer.

Dean shook her gently, "Do you? Do you think that's fair to Sam?"

"What?"

"Did I stutter?"

"Dean, what? Why are you shaking me? Why are we pulled over?"

Dean released his brother, staring. "Sammy?"

"What? What's wrong?"

Dean gazed at his brother, seeing the confusion in his eyes. "Sam, what's the last thing you remember?"

"Hunh?"

"Quick! The last thing you remember?"

"Uh, watching the poles go by. I was counting. Why?"

"That's it?"

"Yeah. Dean, what's wrong with you?"

"Dammit, Sam. That's all you remember?"

Sam flinched. He scooted back to the window, putting space between them. "Why are you angry with me? What did I do?" he asked, eyes wide like saucers.

Dean closed his eyes and counted. "Nothing, Sam. You didn't do anything. Let's just get to Bobby's." He put the car back into drive and pulled back out onto the interstate.

Sam sat, staring at his brother like he'd lost his mind.

"Sam, it's okay, really. You didn't do anything."

"You're mad about something. I can tell. Did I talk in my sleep or something?"

Dean thought about that. "Yeah. I think you did, Sam. It's no big deal though. Look we'll be at Bobby's in about an hour or two. You need to stop again?"

Sam was quiet. "No."

Dean glanced over. Sam was staring out the window with wet eyes. The older boy sighed, "It's gonna be okay, little brother. I promise."

"Why … why do I feel so weird?"

"Weird how?"

"Like … spacey or something. Like I just lost a chunk of time?"

"It was just the dream."

"I feel … guilty. I feel like I … like I did something wrong."

Dean swallowed, shaking his head.

"Dean, you'd … you'd tell me, right? I mean, if I hit you in my sleep? You'd tell me?"

"You didn't hit me, Sammy. Go back to sleep. Everything is fine."


	22. The Bite Mark

"How long you been back, Bobby?" Dean closed his car door and greeted the older hunter.

"Few hours. Got supper on the table for you boys. How was the drive?" His eyes traveled to Sam.

"Long." Sam said, smiling. "Supper sounds awesome, Bobby. Thanks for letting us come here."

Bobby smiled, "You idjits are welcome anytime. You know that." He watched as Sam wearily climbed the front steps and disappeared into the house. He turned back to Dean.

"So how is he, really?"

Dean shook his head. "We need to talk, Bobby. It's … it's pretty bad." The boy looked away.

Bobby stared. "I guessed as much. You don't go through something like that without side effects. Tell me what's goin' on."

"Later, okay? I just wanna grab a shower and some food and a cup of strong coffee."

Bobby nodded. "Got all of that and more. Go on in."

Dean headed up the stairs to the shower as Bobby wandered into the kitchen. He found Sam at the table, bent reverently over a plate of meatloaf.

"How is it?"

"Amazing." Sam grinned. "You always could cook better than Dad, Bobby."

Bobby snorted, "Guess there's a lot I can do better than that son-of-a-bitch." He set about fixing his own plate.

"You haven't eaten?"

"Nah, Figured I'd wait for you two. Eatin' alone gets kinda' old."

Sam smiled. "It's good to be back here. Always feels like coming home."

Bobby blinked rapidly. "Glad you feel that way, son. I love havin' you boys here, goodness knows."

"Dean in the shower?"

"Yeah. Long drive, was it?"

Sam groaned, stretching. "Longest ever. Felt like days instead of hours."

Bobby was silent for a moment before working up his courage, "So, you wanna tell me what went on with the old man? Why you ran out that way?"

Sam looked up, startled. "I thought Dean filled you in."

"I'd like to hear your side of it, boy. And don't sugarcoat anything. Dean already told me he was involved."

Sam shook his head. "He really wasn't. It was all Dad. He just has this way of making Dean do things …"

"But they ganged up on you?"

Sam stared. "I … I don't really wanna talk about it."

"I think you should, Sam. I think it might help."

Sam was silent.

Dean said your father cut you with a knife."

Sam looked away, feeling sick.

"You wanna show me?"

Sam shook his head.

"I'd like to see where John cut you, Sam."

Sam swallowed nervously and began unbuttoning the shirt he'd borrowed from Dean's duffle earlier. Four buttons down and he pulled the shirt open wide so Bobby could see the harsh, red line dotted with fourteen stitches.

Bobby caught his breath. "Damn, boy! That's infected." He said, moving closer. The wound was discolored and swollen and leaking fluid. The skin growing up around the stitches.

"They were supposed to come out the day after he … he took me from the hospital. I had an appointment."

"When was that?"

"Not sure. Days ago, I think. I sorta lost track of time back at that … that house."

"That's gonna hurt, Sam. But we gotta get it cleaned up, or you'll be back in the hospital."

"What's gonna hurt?" Dean entered the kitchen cheerfully, towel-drying his hair. "That shower really hit the spot, Bobby. I feel like a new …" He stopped dead at the sight of Sam's chest.

"Son of a bitch!"

His eyes locked with Sam's. "Why'nt you tell me?"

Sam shrugged, "Forgot about it, I guess."

"Dammit Sam! You don't forget shit like this!" Dean tossed the towel on a chair and knelt down in front of his brother, taking in the sight of his wound. He grimaced. "That must hurt like hell." He said, glancing up into his brother's eyes.

Sam's eyes teared, and he looked away. "Stop yelling at me. I just forgot, okay?"

"Hey, I'm sorry. I'm not yelling, okay? I'm just … worried. This looks really bad, Sammy."

"He said he had an appointment for the day after he … he left the hospital." Bobby offered.

"Oh." Dean said, understanding dawning. "That son-of-a-bitch. Tell me he died painfully, Bobby." he growled.

Bobby paused. "He got a … fitting … end."

"Good."

"Honestly, I'm just as pissed at John." Bobby's eyes flashed daggers. "What'd he use? A fucking rusty knife?"

"Used my knife." Dean admitted, sighing. He exchanged looks with Bobby.

"Cause he knew it would hurt me more." Sam offered softly.

Dean nodded. "It was extra sharp."

Sam shook his head. "Not what I meant. It was worse, bein' your knife. Dad knew that."

Dean's eyes closed, and he had to swallow twice to keep from puking right there. "Sammy. I know it's been a long day and all, but we can't put this off, okay? I'm sorry. We gotta get those stitches out, clean it up and then we'll see if it needs new ones." Dean turned to the old hunter, "You got any painkillers? I think I only got one left."

Bobby nodded, "Nothing you can use as a local though. That would probably be best." He reached into a cupboard and handed Dean a bottle. "Here, give these a try. I got antibiotics too, for after."

Dean gazed at his brother. "Hey Sammy?"

Sam looked up. "Yeah?"

"You … uh … you got anything else we need to … uh … take a look at?"

Sam blushed and looked away.

The two hunters exchanged a startled glance.

"Sammy?"

"Got a … uh … you know … a bite mark."

Dean stared. "A bite mark?"

A tear rolled down Sam's cheek when he nodded.

"Where?"

Sam was silent.

"Sam? Where'd that bastard bite you?"

"You know … uh … down there." Sam's voice hitched.

Bobby swore, and Dean looked away, swallowing hard.

Sam folded in on himself and buried his face in his hand, his shoulders shaking. "I told you. It would be easier on all of us if you'd just left me there."

"What'd you just say?" Bobby barked.

Dean flinched. Bobby never used that tone on Sam. He couldn't remember a single time when Bobby had barked like that at the younger boy.

"Bobby." He softly chastised. And when the older hunter caught his eye, Dean shook his head gently. He knelt down in front of his brother.

"Sorry, Sammy. Couldn't do it. Need my pain-in-the-ass kid brother beside me. Told you that already, didn't I?" He joked softly, ruffling the kid's hair.

When Sam didn't respond, Bobby broke the pained silence by clearing his throat. "Why'nt you boys head upstairs to my room? I'll bring up a basin of antiseptic water and some clean towels, Okay?" he placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. "Take those painkillers now, Sam. Give 'em some time to start working."

Dean shook out two of the pills and handed them to his brother as Bobby placed a glass of water in the boy's hand.

Dean pulled Sam to his feet after he'd downed the medicine and pushed him toward the stairs. "Go rest for a few minutes, and give 'em some time to kick in, okay? I'll be right up."

Sam nodded and disappeared slowly up the stairs, the two hunters wordlessly watching his back.


	23. Old Scars

Dean swore again when he lifted Sam's left boxer leg and saw the angry bite mark. It was high up on the inside of the boy's thigh, almost in the crease, and Dean knew it had to hurt like a son of a bitch.

"It's infected too, Sammy. Gonna hurt a bit. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Dean." Sam's voice was flat and emotionless. "Just do what you need to do."

Dean poured the disinfectant straight on the wound. "Is this the only one?"

Sam hissed around the pain, "Yeah, just that. It's enough though."

Dean dipped a clean washcloth in the warm soapy water that Bobby had provided and gently sponged over the mark. "Bastard broke the skin."

"I wouldn't scream for him."

Dean's hand froze. "What?"

"He told me to scream. I wouldn't. So he bit me. Then I screamed. I couldn't help it." Sam rattled off the information, emotionless, like it had happened to someone else. "He liked hearing me scream. Said it made him feel alive."

"Hurting you made the fucker feel alive?"

"Yeah."

Dean nodded, resuming his ministrations, "Yeah, well the bastard ain't feeling so alive now. May he rot in hell."

Sam winced as Dean blotted the area dry and reapplied more disinfectant.

"Sorry. Let me get a bandage on, although …"

"What?"

"I … uh … I gotta shave your hair just a little." Dean said nervously, glancing up at his shy brother. "Is … is that okay? Otherwise, the tape is gonna stick and it's gonna hurt like a bitch coming off."

Sam sat up, embarrassed. "No. I can do it. I'll take care of it in the shower. I can put the bandage on too." He pushed Dean's hand away.

"Sammy … "

"I said I'll do it, Dean. Just … let me do it, okay?"

Dean backed off, reluctantly. "Okay, but can I see it when you're done? I just wanna make sure you get the bandage on right, and that's kind of an awkward angle for you to see what you're doing?"

Sam nodded. "Sure. Whatever." He rubbed absently at the fresh bandage on his chest.

Dean grimaced in sympathy. "That hurt?"

"No, feels better with the stitches gone."

"Good. I don't think you'll need any more. If we keep it bandaged up tight and you're careful not to split it back open, it should heal on its own. Gonna leave a hell of a scar though." He added regretfully.

Sam shrugged. "Outside might as well match the inside."

Dean noted his defeated tone. "Hey Sammy?"

"Hm?" Sam lay back with his good arm thrown over his eyes.

"You need to talk to someone."

Sam was silent.

"Did you hear me?"

"You mean a shrink?"

"Yeah, probably."

Sam sighed. "I know."

Dean was surprised. He didn't expect Sam to agree with him. "You do?"

"Yeah. I've known for awhile now."

Dean frowned, moving to stretch out beside his brother, face to face. "How long?"

Sam shrugged, "Dunno. Years maybe."

Dean caught his breath. "What makes you say that?"

"I think maybe I have blackouts. I sort of lose time sometimes, you know?"

Dean shook his head. "Tell me."

Sam was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Well, you remember that last time Dad and I really got into it? Well, not the last last time - the time before that?"

Dean thought back. "When you were like three hours late coming back from the library? It was dark out, and Dad and I were both freaked. You wouldn't answer your phone."

"Yeah. That time. Except I didn't come from the library."

"What?"

Sam shook his head. "I was in the backseat of some dude's car, and he was leering down at me like I'd just said something funny. Got no idea how I got there. I just remembered you dropping me off at the library and me telling you I'd walk back before dark. Next thing I know, I'm in the parking lot at some mall, lying across the backseat of some dude's shitty Blazer, locked in a wrestling match, and it's dark as pitch outside." Sam glanced over at Dean. "It was freaking terrifying, Dean. Not so much that the guy obviously had plans, but that I couldn't remember getting into the situation to begin with."

"Shit, Sam." Dean's eyes were tearing. "Did he … did he hurt you?"

"I don't guess so. Unless it happened before I … came back into myself. I punched him in the face and got the hell out of there. I ran the whole way back to the motel."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to, that time. That time was like the last straw. I was going to tell you what happened and ask you to take me somewhere to talk to somebody. I was really freaked, Dean."

"So why didn't you?"

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked away. "Just didn't is all."

"Tell me."

"Just drop it, Dean. Okay?"

Dean felt his anger rising. If Sam had said something that night, maybe what had happened could have been avoided. "Sam, dammit! Tell me!"

:"No." Sam calmly refused.

"You do realize if you'd said something then, none of this," Dean gestured to Sam's injuries, "might have happened?" He was pissed.

"So you do think this is my fault." Sam quietly replied.

"Don't put words in my mouth."

Sam rolled over to face his brother eye-to-eye. "So, do you remember my punishment that night, Dean? Remember what Dad did? What his 'lesson' was?"

Dean thought back, horror dawning.

Sam saw it in his eyes. "That's right. Dad gave me over to you, didn't he? He let you decide what my punishment should be. Do you remember what you decided?"

Dean swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as dust. "'Sammy … I …"

"You took away my books, Dean. All of them - even my school books. Wouldn't let me touch them for a solid week. No library books, nothing. I failed three tests that week and got detention. And then every time Dad started in on me, which was like every damned day, I had no way to escape."

"Sam … I … I couldn't hit you. Dad wanted me to. He was pissed when he found out what I'd decided. He wanted me to take the belt to your ass."

Sam smiled ruefully. "A beating would have been kinder, Dean. You knew exactly what you were doing. You were pissed, and you knew what would hurt me the most. And you did it. Because Dad said so."


	24. Blindsided

It was getting dark outside by the time Dean was finally able to sit down to a plate filled with warmed up meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and he tensed a bit when heard Sam coming down the stairs. The boy smiled and patted his shoulder when he went by, though, as if to let Dean know he wasn't angry with him anymore. Dean glanced up and noticed Sam was wearing a pair of jeans Dean hadn't seen in years. They must have been left behind upstairs and the kid had lost so much weight they almost fit him again. There were skin tight though, and looked far from comfortable.

Sam made a beeline for Bobby.

"Hey Bobby, Is it okay if I borrow a few things from the bathroom drawers upstairs? You know, mostly toiletries - razors and such?" And Dean noticed he had a handful of items clasped in his fist already.

"Take whatever you need, boy. You know that. That's why I keep extra stuff up there, toothbrushes and things. It's for you boys when you stay here."

"Awesome!" Sam grinned, spinning round excitedly to face Dean. "Okay if I take the car into town in a bit?"

Dean choked on a mouthful of meatloaf, and across the kitchen, Bobby dropped the plate he was drying.

Sam looked worried, "What's wrong? I'm sixteen. I can drive."

Dean wiped his mouth. "Sam, you've never asked to drive the Impala. Ever. And anyway, that's a provisional license. You can't go out by yourself on it."

Sam deflated, flopping into the chair across from Dean and crossing his legs prettily, "Well, pooh." He pouted, sending Dean's radar through the roof.

Bobby walked over, staring at Sam. "Did you just say 'pooh?'" He turned to Dean. "Did he just say 'pooh?'"

"Yes, I said pooh. Why? Is pooh such a crime? Should I have said 'oh fuck' instead?"

Bobby's mouth dropped open in surprise, but that was nothing compared to what came next.

Sam smiled sweetly at Dean, "Well, then will you drive me Dean? Pretty please?" He asked, pulling a mirrored compact out of the pocket of his shirt, snapping it open and resting it on the table. He placed the rest of the items from his fist beside it, leaned over, and began applying eyeliner.

Dean looked at Bobby looking at the small pile of what must have once been Karen's makeup, and felt sick.

"What the Sam Hill?" Bobby started.

"I guess it's time we had that talk now." Dean addressed the older man, forgetting his meatloaf once again.

"Ya think?"

"Bobby, this is …" Dean cleared his throat, "this is Liz. Liz, meet Bobby. He's Sam's uncle."

Liz bolted to her feet and threw herself into Bobby's arms. "Oh!" She squealed, "I finally get to meet you! Sammy talks about you all the time. You've always been so nice to him." She planted a kiss on his cheek before sitting back down.

"Did you make the meatloaf, Uncle Bobby? It looks really good." She noted, lining the other eye.

Bobby stood like a stone statue in the middle of the kitchen, his cheek damp and his voice gone.

"I know. Rocks your world, doesn't it?" Dean replied morosely.

Liz glanced up and winked, "I'd rock your world, baby. Any time you say." She giggled when his face turned beet red. When he started to stammer, she rose from her seat and plopped down in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Come on, baby." She licked quietly into his ear. "Let me."

Dean pushed her away forcefully and stood up. "You lied to me." He accused her, bluntly.

She was caught off guard. "What?"

"You lied. You said you'd never put Sam to sleep before while you … played. But you did. You did it that time I dropped Sam at the library and he was so late getting home. You put him in the backseat of some guy's Chevy Blazer, didn't you?"

Liz smiled alarmingly and returned to her toilette. She shrugged. "Maybe. I don't remember that though."

"You remember, you just don't want to admit that you put your own selfish needs ahead of Sam's welfare. He could have been raped! He could have been killed!"

She sighed, annoyed. "Look, I don't remember that, okay? When I told you I hadn't been out on my own until recently, that was the truth." she glared up at him. "What makes you think it was me anyway? It could have been anybody?" She moved on to lipstick.

"Of course it was you. It sure as hell wasn't Sam."

She understood then, and her eyes went wide. "Oh Dean! You didn't think I was the only one in here, right?"

Dean's mouth dropped open.

Bobby fell into the nearest chair, taking in the spectacle as it played out before him.

"How many more?" Dean croaked.

Liz shrugged. "Who knows. You think I've met them all? We don't exactly get to chat with one another you know." She finished her makeup and stood up, facing Dean. "So, how do I look?" She smiled hopefully, looking vulnerable. "Would you do me? You know, if it wasn't for the brother thing?"

Dean's face went white, "Sammy …" He said helplessly.

She tsked, "Don't be such a prude, Dean. If I can't get lucky with you, I'll find someone else who's willing. Sam's awfully cute, after all. Especially with the eyeliner. Don't you think?" She peeked at herself again in the mirror. "These eyes are to die for. Don't wait up." She called, as she turned to leave the kitchen.

"Stop it. Just … stop it." Dean roared, grabbing her by the arm.

Her eyes lit up. "Oh Dean! I love it when you get all demanding." She moved in close, draping her form along his. "Come on, baby. Let's move this upstairs."

When Dean began looking like he was going to have a stroke, Bobby moved in. He pushed the chair toward Liz and barked. "You sit down right now, young lady. We're gonna have a talk."

Liz sighed, loosening her hold on Dean's waist. "Fine." She said, perching on the edge of the chair, feet folded neatly beneath her, "But let's make this quick. A girl has needs, you know."

Bobby caught Dean's eye and motioned him to sit down before he fell down. "You." He addressed Dean. "Eat your meal before it gets cold again. And you…" He turned to face Liz. "We'd like to talk to Sam now, if you don't mind."

She shook her head innocently. "It doesn't work like that. You'll get him back when he feels like coming back. Not before. I have no say in it, really."

"But you said you tucked him away so you could take charge when he felt threatened." Dean pleaded.

She glared back. "You left him crying upstairs, Dean. Again. He cried himself to sleep over your history of hurting him every time Dad's in the room. This …" She gestured to herself. "This is on you. If Sam felt safe here, if he felt loved, he wouldn't need me. I'm his hired bodyguard, so to speak. You wanna see him again? Start treating him right, dammit."


	25. Can't Take Me Anywhere

"You been dealin' with this alone for how long, Dean?" Bobby asked, keeping one eye on Liz as she sat pushing herself on the porch swing.

Dean sighed, "Since the night we got him back."

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, "Pretty sure I'd seen everything, you know." He eyed Dean, "And then I had to go and pick up the damned phone."

Dean snorted. "And the rest is history."

"It'd be funny, you know, if …

Dean rested his head in his hands, "If it might not get Sam raped? Killed?"

"Yeah. That."

"Bobby, I need a beer in the worst way."

"Can I have a beer?" Liz piped up.

"No!" The hunters said in unison.

"And no pouting." Dean called.

"Got whiskey. I'm all out of beer."

"Yeah, I'm making a beer run."

Bobby's eyebrows went up, "I'm not hangin' here alone with Lolita over there."

"What, you afraid of a 16-year-old girl?"

"That ain't no 16-year-old, Dean. Thirty maybe."

Dean whined, "Come on, Bobby. She's … she's wearing lipstick for crying out loud."

"She's your sister. She goes with you." Bobby tried unsuccessfully to smother a chuckle.

Dean shot him a glare. "Thanks, Uncle."

"Anytime. And bring me back some pork rinds."

"Fine." Dean growled, rising up off the steps. "Come on, Liz. Beer run."

Liz practically rocketed off the porch swing. "Can I drive?"

"No."

"Will you drop me off at the bar?"

"No."

"Well, can I at least come in with you?"

"No."

She halted, one hand on the door of the Impala and turned to Dean.

"You ashamed of me, Dean?"

And damn if she didn't sound just like Sam when she said those words that tore Dean's heart in half.

He stared over at his little brother in his too-tight jeans, out-grown tee, eyeliner, lipstick, and cropped, blond hair, and suddenly he knew the answer.

"Of course not, Sammy. I could never be ashamed of you. Get in the car, you big geek."

Liz grinned and slid inside. Once Dean slipped behind the wheel, she moved to inch closer, but one stern look was all it took to edge her back over to the passenger side.

"Geez. Dean. Grumpy much?"

"You don't know the half of it." Dean answered, wondering if he was making a huge mistake, taking Sam to town when he was so obviously out of it. But it was too late to put the brakes on now, and when they pulled up to the liquor store, he was pissed to see that it was almost closing time, and the place was packed with last-callers.

He killed the engine and took a deep breath. "I'm not calling you Liz."

She smiled, flirting. "I'll be whoever you want me to be, baby."

Dean's eyes rolled, but he made sure Sam was safely in front of him as they made their way inside.

Dean immediately headed to the rear coolers where he knew his and Bobby's favorite beers were chilling, and when Sam tried to veer off-course, he grabbed him back with a tug to the shoulder of his shirt. "Dean. Pork rinds." Sam whined.

"Fine. Go get the damned pork rinds."

"Okay." was the last thing Dean heard as he headed into the cooler. When he emerged, both hands full of beer, he heard giggling near the back door. His big brother instincts were in overdrive as he came around the corner and saw Sam, pork rinds in hand, pressed up against the corner in the very back of the store. Three rednecks had him pinned in place and one had the audacity to reach out a hand and actually place it on his baby brother. "Come on sweetheart. You're all dolled up there. Let me have a taste." He placed his hand on the back of Sam's neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

And Sam seemed to go willingly, wrapping his good arm tight around the beefy dude's neck and kissing him back. When the boy pulled away in disgust, his two buddies had a good laugh.

"Dude, you just kissed a dude."

"Shut up! I didn't think he'd freaking let me! What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" Goliath swiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Dean saw his brother's face crumple. "I thought … wait, what?"

"Fuckin' freak! We oughta take you out back and gangbang the shit right outa you!"

"Yeah, you oughta shut your fuckin' mouth, asshole." Dean stepped up into the guy's space. "You wanna piece of something tonight? Try me, motherfucker."

"Winchester?"

Dean recognized the brute then. His name was Dick or Dirk or something, and he'd gone to school with Sam off and on anytime they'd stayed with Bobby long enough. Dean knew the kid was scared shitless of him because they'd gone more than one round over him bullying his kid brother.

Dirk backed away. "Whattaya got in all this, anyway? This don't concern you."

"Wrong as always, asshole." Dean shoved one six-pack up under his arm and reached his other hand out for Sam. "Come on out, Sammy. Time to go."

Dirk's eyes widened into saucers as he made the connection. He stared at Sam as Dean tugged him out of the corner. "Holy shit! Sam Winchester? That's Sam Winchester! What the fuck happened to you, man?"

Dean froze, turning back to face the towering giant, "I'm gonna fucking happen to you if you don't shut your ugly mouth. You got that?"

That apparently left the boy speechless, and Dean tugged his brother to the register. "Come on, Sammy. Hand over those pork rinds." He glanced up at Sam's face and was horrified to see his little brother's own eyes gazing back at him in sheer terror.

"Deep breaths, Sammy. Then we're outa here, okay?"

Sam nodded, too shocked to do anything else.

Dean paid for the beer and pork rinds and as he was gathering up his change, he tipped off the cashier. "The big kid in the back's a cadet. Make sure you card him." He winked.

Dean pulled Sam to the car and tucked him inside. He placed the beer on the backseat and climbed in. He risked a glance over at Sam.

His brother was staring at him wordlessly, eyes wide and terrified.

"You okay, Sammy?"

"What … what the hell just happened, Dean?"

"What do you remember?"

"Falling asleep. How'd we get here? Did … did … Dirk the Jerk just freaking kiss me?" He began heaving instantly, and threw his door open, puking out over the side.

Sam pulled himself back inside the car, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He leaned back against the seat, breathing heavily. "Shit!"

Dean glanced over from where he was maneuvering out into traffic.

"What the fuck am I wearing, Dean?" Sam cried, looking down at himself. "I'm gonna be sterile!" He wriggled around in the seat. "These hurt!"

"Calm down, Sam, okay?" Dean tried unsuccessfully to smother a giggle.

"You think this is funny? You try wearin' pants this tight!" Sam wiped his mouth again and sat staring at the bright red slash on the back of his hand. He reached up and whipped the visor down, finding the mirror that he always kept stashed there and studied his face.

"Dean! I look like a … like a … I don't even know what I look like! Why'd you let me out of the house like this?"

"Sammy, calm down." Dean struggled to get control of his voice, but the picture Sam made in the passenger seat, wrestling against his too-tight jeans and furiously scrubbing at his lips, made for quite the show and the corners of his mouth quirked up.

"Dean, stop." Sam saw what was coming, and it was pissing him off more by the second. "Really, why'd you let me do this to myself? I hate you."

But Dean could only shake his head wordlessly and turn his head to the side as the giggles took him over.


	26. Kid Brother

Dean hadn't thrown the car into park before Sam shot out the door and up the steps of Bobby's porch, brushing past the older man in an angry blur. Dean heard him trample loudly up the stairs and slam the bedroom door behind him. He climbed out of the car and retrieved the bags with a sigh.

"I see you found your brother." Bobby quipped, reaching for a longneck.

Dean settled down on the steps beside the man who was more like his own father than his own father had ever been. "I laughed at him, Bobby. I'm such a douche." Dean set the beer down without touching it.

"It's just the stress, boy. It's probably better to laugh now than it is to blow up later. You have to be runnin' on air, and yellin' at the kid sure ain't gonna help anything."

Dean thought about this for a moment before nodding. He twisted the top off the nearest bottle and took a long swig.

"I did some research while you were gone."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"I think Sam might have D.I.D."

"That what they're callin' it these days?"

Bobby nodded. "Usually comes from childhood trauma though, which don't really fit with what just happened to Sam."

Dean looked away, swallowing hard. He took another drink to muster his courage.

"What?" Bobby read his mind.

"Liz, uh, she told me Dad beat Sam. Like a lot. Since he was five."

"What?" Bobby stared, and Dean could hear the horror in his voice.

"She showed me … scars on his back. Old ones. Healed over. They're horrible, Bobby. I swear I didn't know. I never woulda …" Dean's voice failed him.

The old hunter blinked, "Nah, surely not. No way in hell that could'a happened and we missed it, Dean."

"We did miss it. Damned if I know how, but what he … what she said made sense. I remember some of it, and it all makes sense now."

"You remember John beatin' your five-year-old brother?"

"No!" Dean griped. "Hell no, Bobby. You think I'd a let something like that go on? No, I remember Sam hidin' in the bathroom or refusin' to get out of bed for days at a time. Liz says that was always after a beating. He never told me. Why didn't he tell me?"

Bobby was silent, thinking. Finally, he spoke. "That makes me feel sick, Dean. Thinkin' of that boy … and John … son of a bitch!"

"Dean?" Sam's hesitant voice came from the doorway.

Both men spun around as one, taking in Sam dressed in a pair of Dean's baggy sweats and a loose-fitting tee, all traces of Liz washed away.

"What is it, Sammy?"

"You seen my bear?"

"What?"

"My bear." Sam settled himself on the swing and popped a thumb in his mouth.

Dean was silent.

"Well? I left him on the bed, and he's gone now." Sam mumbled around his thumb, sniffling. "Someone tooked him."

Bobby cleared his throat, "You talkin' about Ben?" he asked the boy kindly.

Sam nodded, eyes wide and watery.

"I think I might know where he's at, boy. Hold on. I'll go look." Bobby rose from the steps, taking the beer with him. "I'll pop these in the fridge."

As soon as Bobby left, Sam moved down to sit beside Dean, feet bare and knees bent, and the older boy noticed he had a pillowcase clutched tightly in one hand.

"Whatcha doin' with the pillowcase, Sammy?"

"Was gonna make Ben a sleepin' bag, but he's gone." Sam replied woefully.

Dean was silent, gathering his thoughts before speaking again, "How old are you now, Sam? Thirty-five?"

Sam giggled, "No, Dean. I'm five, silly."

"Five! That old, hunh?"

"That ain't old, Dean. You're old."

"Yeah?" Dean took another drink.

"Yep."

Dean stared off across the yard, at the dark sky all lit up with stars. He felt the soothing summer breeze stir his hair. "Five's kinda' old to still be suckin' your thumb, Sammy."

Sam lowered his thumb immediately, face turning pink. He looked away.

Instantly, Dean felt guilty. He turned to his gargantuan five-year-old brother and ruffled his hair lovingly, "I'm just razzin' you kiddo. Five's not too old to need your thumb. Suck away if you want to."

Sam smiled silently as his thumb raised back up immediately.

Dean heard a step behind them, and suddenly a ratty-looking stuffed bear appeared over Sam's right shoulder. "This him, son?"

Sam's face exploded in a huge grin. "You founded him! Thanks Uncle Bobby!" He grabbed the bear with his good hand and tried unsuccessfully to shove it into the pillowcase, one-handed.

"Here, Sammy. I can help." Dean took hold of the pillowcase and held it open. He watched as Sam positioned the bear inside up to its neck and then wrapped the rest of the fabric tightly around its body. "There. He'll be warm now." Sam smiled, cradling the toy tightly.

Dean smiled, "Kinda' past your bedtime, isn't it?"

Sam shrugged, avoiding Dean's eyes. "Can't sleep."

"Yeah? How do you know? Did you try?"

"My leg hurts" Sam whined, moving his feet restlessly.

Dean frowned, "Where?"

"Here." Sam pointed to the area of the bite mark. "Hurts real bad too."

Dean stood up, pulling his brother up with him. "You go on up, okay? I'll be up in a minute to re-bandage it. I'll bring your medicine up too."

Sam stood, wincing. "What'd I do? How'd I get a boo boo? I don't 'member how I got it."

Dean thought quick, "You … uh … you fell off your bike yesterday. Out by the shed. Fell on a piece of metal, but we got it fixed up. It's just time to change the bandage is all. We'll take care of it, then it won't hurt anymore, okay?"

Sam grinned, "'Kay, Dean." He placed the dilapidated bear to Dean's ear. "Ben says good night."

Dean smiled. He remembered this game. "Goodnight, Ben. No gettin' fleas in Sam's bed. You remember that."

"I don't have fleas!" Ben replied in a scandalized voice.

"Well, don't be eating any of Sam's candy he's got stashed under the bed either."

"Just the jelly beans." Ben growled.

"Good. Go to bed like a good bear then."

"Okay, Dean." Ben placed a kiss on Dean's cheek as Sam bounced back up the stairs, all long legs and baggy clothes, just like he had a million years ago.


	27. Punishment

"The more I read, the more impossible this all feels, Bobby." Dean said dejectedly, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He stared at the open laptop in front of him like it was a hated thing.

Bobby spoke from the stove. "What are you getting?"

Dean sighed, "Some say there's no cure, only ways to manage it. Other sites say you can cure it, and that's it possible to have a normal life again. All of them say that treatment takes a long time, and even then, we might never have a handle on how many "alters" Sam has tucked away in his brain." He turned to the older hunter, "How did we never see any signs of this?"

Bobby shrugged, "What I read last night said that Dissociative Identity Disorder used to be called multiple personalities. Said it's been misdiagnosed for years. Hell Dean, if licensed psychiatrists can't see the signs, how are we supposed to?"

Dean wasn't convinced, "I don't know. Seems like we shoulda known. Feels like I let Sam down. Again."

"Stop beatin' yourself up, boy. You had no way of knowin'. And at least now we have an idea what we're dealin' with. It could always be worse."

Dean snorted, "How Bobby? Tell me how this could possibly get any worse?"

Bobby shrugged, "Could be attending your brother's funeral today."

Dean shot him a dark glare. "That's not funny."

"Wasn't supposed to be. Go on, read more."

Dean turned back to the laptop with a grunt. "It just says these alters can each have different personalities, body language, even memories. It's like Sam just cooks them up his head without realizing it, and gives each of them a different reality. Like one might be a kid - we met him last night. One might be overtly sexual - met her too. Then there's Sammy - he's the host. But there could be others, like one that's violent - he'd be the avenging alter. There could be one that's a perpetrator - he'd be more like Dad, I guess. There's more too."

Bobby shook his head, transferring a plate full of pancakes to the table in front of Dean. "Sounds damned complicated. Guess that sort of fits with Sam. Kid always was too smart for his own good."

Dean sat looking disinterestedly at his pancakes. "Sounds damned expensive. How are we gonna pay for years of treatment, Bobby? You know what those guys charge by the hour?"

Bobby sat down across from the boy he thought of as a son. "We'll figure it out. It's gotta be done. I don't think this is one we can handle on our own, Dean. Sam needs help. We're gonna get it for him. Ain't no options here."

"I know. I'd make him an appointment today, but I'm pretty sure no doc's gonna take my IOU."

Bobby smiled, "I got some ideas. So stop worryin' and eat your damned pancakes. I didn't spend all morning over that hot stove for nothing."

Dean was silent for a moment, then spoke. "I think I met the avenging one."

Bobby looked up from his plate, startled, "What? When?"

"That first night at the motel. Remember when I woke Sam up to see what he wanted to eat and he came to fists flyin'?"

Bobby nodded.

"Well, he was sayin' stuff, like 'you wanna another piece of Sam, you're gonna have to go through me.'"

Bobby was about to reply, but Sam padded into the room just then, bear dangling from his good hand by one scruffy paw. He was still in the clothes he'd worn to bed, looking rumpled and sleepy. "Did I miss the bus?" He asked, staring down at Bobby's pancakes with hungry eyes. "Dad's gonna be mad. You didn't wake me up, Dean." He said accusingly, looking like he was about to cry.

Dean's heart broke. He just knew Sam was anticipating another beating. "Dad's not here, Sammy. And anyway, it's summer vacation. You're good."

The grin that split Sam's face was equally heartbreaking and joyous to the hunters. "It is? Can we go fishin' and stuff then?" He wandered over to the stove, searching for more pancakes. And before anyone could stop him, he grabbed hold of the handle on the cast-iron skillet and let out a yelp. The skillet clattered to the floor with a deafening clang, the batter from the pancake that was inside splattering all across the floor and Sam's toes.

Both hunters jumped up, "Sammy!" Dean yelled, crossing the floor in two strides. "Did you burn yourself? Let me see!" He reached for his brother's hand.

But instead of the tears that both hunters expected, anger landed on Sam's face like a dark shadow. He took a step back from Dean's outstretched hand and snarled. "Dammit, boy! What the hell are you doing?"

Dean halted his headlong rush. "What?"

"So stupid! Clumsy! You're too old to be doing shit that dumb, Sam!" He slapped himself across the face. Hard.

"Sam! Stop it!"

Sam's watering eyes turned to Dean then, as though seeing him for the first time. "Don't you coddle him, boy! It's half your fault that he does the stupid things he does. Always babying him. Well it's time you got him to man up!"

Sam's eyes darted around the kitchen, landing on the white extension cord that Bobby kept hanging on a nail by the door. It was connected to the outdoor light that the hunter had mounted above the kitchen door. Sam strode forward and unplugged it, gathering its length in a coil. He handed it to Dean.

"Here. I want you to beat some sense into your brother. And don't you go easy on him, either, or you'll be next."

Dean took the coiled cord unthinkingly, shocked into speechlessness. He stared wordlessly at Sam. The boy stood there looking fierce, and everything about him, from the way he stood, to the look on his face and the tone of his voice, was pure John Winchester.

Bobby spoke up. "Ain't nobody beatin' Sam today. John. It was an accident for heaven's sake."

Sam took a step toward the older man and poked a finger into his chest. "You stay out of this, old man. These are my boys; I'll discipline them as I see fit."

Bobby pushed the finger away calmly. "Not in my house you won't. Sam's not gettin' a beatin' today, and that's final."

Sam stood looking from one to the other, fury evident in his features. "Dean!" He barked. "I gave you an order, son."

Dean dropped the cord and took a step back, feeling sick. "No."

Sam advanced, "What did you say to me?"

Dean couldn't help it, he was as terrified of this spot-on parody of his father as he'd always been of the real thing. Sam was damned convincing.

Dean's voice trembled. "I said no. I'm not hurting Sammy. Not ever again. I don't care what you say or do."

Sam stood still, nostrils flaring. "If I have to do myself, Dean. It's gonna go harder on him. Sam's five years old, not two. It's time he started to grow up and act like a Winchester."

Dean swallowed back the bile that tried to surface as Sam used one of his father's oldest arguments. "You're not gonna do a damned thing to him because I'm not gonna let you."

Sam smiled then, and damned if he didn't look just like his father. "Fine. Just remember, Dean. This is on you." And before either man could react, Sam held the palm of his good hand over the flaming burner.

Dean and Bobby both leaped forward as a child's keening cry filled the kitchen.

 _ **Author's note:**_ _Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing :) Please don't follow this fic with the intention of learning more about or diagnosing DID. This is purely a work of fiction._


	28. Round Table

"When you said a round-table exercise, doc, you weren't kidding, hunh?" Dean joked nervously, glancing around at Bobby and Sam. The three sat, predictably, gathered together at a round conference table with the fourth chair taken up by Sam's psychiatrist. After the hand-on-the-flame incident, Bobby made an emergency withdrawal from his dwindling bank account, and Dean tracked down a doctor who seemed to know what he was doing when it came to DID.

The doctor smiled, "You can call me Steven, Dean, and to answer your question - yes. A round table exercise is exactly what it sounds like - a chance for everyone to meet and introduce themselves and get to know one another. He turned to Sam. "Sam, do you understand what outcome we're hoping to achieve today?"

Sam nodded nervously, looking like he was three seconds from fleeing at any given moment. "You, uh, want to meet my other, uh alters?"

Steven studied the young boy with a practiced eye. "Would you feel more comfortable if Dean moved his chair closer to yours?"

Sam swallowed as his face turned pink, but he nodded, glancing at his brother apologetically. "Uh, would … would you mind?"

Dean smiled and instantly moved his chair next to Sam's. He shoulder-bumped him. "Of course not, Sammy. "S'why I'm here, after all."

Steven noted the easy concern that the older boy displayed toward his brother and instantly knew it was genuine, born from years of practice. He smiled approvingly.

"So, shall we begin?" The doctor glanced around the circle, searching for affirmation. "I'll start."

"Sam, I'm Dr. Steven Bright. I'm a licensed psychiatrist here at Valley Mental Health. I've been a practicing psychiatrist for nine years now, and I specialize in helping patients cope with Dissociative Identity Disorder. I'm 47 years old. I live in Sioux Falls with my wife and son. Is there anything you would like to ask me?"

Sam glanced up, shaking his head quietly.

Steven smiled. "Okay then. Dean? Would you like to go next?"

Dean cleared his throat and addressed the doctor, "Uh, I'm Dean and …" the doctor cut him off.

"Dean, would you mind addressing Sam? Introduce yourself to him just like you would to a stranger."

Dean's eyes widened, but he turned to his brother instantly and began again. "Hey Sammy. Uh, I'm Dean Winchester." He snorted then because he couldn't help himself. It was weird introducing himself to the brother whose diapers he used to change regularly.

Steven smiled. "Just relax, Dean. Take your time. I know it feels strange introducing yourself to your brother, but don't forget, it's not only your brother that you're addressing.

Dean sobered at the thought and then continued. "Uh, I'm 20 years old, staying in Sioux Falls with Bobby for the time being. I, uh, I like classic rock and old cars?" He shrugged then, looking at Steven.

The doctor nodded approvingly, turning to Bobby. "Mr. Singer?"

Bobby leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. "Sam, I'm, uh, Bobby Singer. I own a salvage yard here in Sioux Falls, and I ain't about to tell anyone how old I am, but let's just let it go by sayin' I'm older than disco."

"Good!" Steven encouraged. "Sam? You're next."

Sam looked startled, "Uh, who do I talk to?"

"Why don't you start with Dean?"

"Uh, oh. Okay." He turned to Dean. "Hi, uh, I'm Sam. I'm sixteen and, uh … I can't think of anything else." He looked to Steven for help.

Steven nodded. "Good, Sam. Would you like to tell Dean what you like to do in your spare time, maybe?"

Sam turned back to Dean and opened his mouth, but suddenly, his mind went blank. Suddenly, he couldn't think of a single thing he actually enjoyed doing. He flushed pink, and sat staring at his brother, just shaking his head.

Dean frowned and reached out a hand to comfort Sam, but stopped when Steven cleared his throat. When Dean looked up, the man shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"Sam? We're waiting?" Steven encouraged.

But Sam floundered. And the longer the room was enveloped in silence, the more nervous he became. His breathing quickened and he began to sweat.

"It was a simple question. What do you like to do in your spare time?" Steven badgered, earning a scowl from Dean.

Sam's mouth opened and closed twice, but his mind just wouldn't cooperate. It was a repeat of the diner performance, and suddenly Sam felt like he was going to be sick.

"You're not going to be sick. You're just feeling put on the spot. Take a few deep breaths and then I'll ask again. What do you like to do in your spare time?"

Silence.

"Answer the question, please." Steven addressed the boy sharper this time.

Sam looked like he was about to cry, and Dean was ready to tuck him under an arm and lead him out of this hateful place, away from this cold doctor.

But then Sam shivered, and his posture changed before their eyes. He leaned forward and propped an elbow on the table, his thumb tucking inside his mouth. "You're mean." He accused around the obstacle, eyes watering.

Steven nodded. "I don't mean to sound abrupt. We would just like to get to know you better. What's your name?"

"Sammy."

Steven smiled, "Hi Sammy. It's nice to meet you. I'm Steven. This is Dean. And that's Bobby. How old are you?"

"Five."

"Good. Can you tell us what you like to do in your spare time?"

Sammy shrugged, "Read, I guess. And hang out wif Dean."

"That sounds like fun. What do you like to read?"

"Comics."

Steven nodded. "Do you have a favorite?"

"Batman." Sam wrapped his long legs around the legs of the chair.

Steven nodded. "Sammy, do you know Sam?"

"I'm Sam."

"No, you're Sammy, and you're five. Sam is sixteen. Have you met him? Do you know who he is?"

Sammy nodded, "I heard Liz talkin' 'bout him."

Steven nodded, "What did Liz say about him?"

Sammy shook his head.

Steven blinked, "You don't want to repeat what Liz said about Sam?"

He shook his head again.

"Can you tell me why?"

"I can't say bad words. Dean says I can't."

"Well, maybe Dean will understand if you're just repeating what someone else said. Would that be okay, Dean?" Steven gestured for the older boy to address Sammy directly.

Dean turned to his brother. "Sure Sammy. It's okay if you're just repeating what Liz said about Sam. We really need to know, okay? So you go ahead. You won't get in trouble. I promise." He brushed off his special smile that was reserved for five-year-old brothers. It was rusty, but Dean hoped it still worked.

Sam blinked, "but you'll smack my butt if I use bad words, Dean."

"Not this time, Sammy. I promise. We just … we want to help Sam. And we need to know what Liz told you, okay?"

Sammy pouted.

"Sammy? Please?" Dean pleaded.

"She said he's fucking crazy in the head."

Dean frowned, "But I thought she liked Sam? I thought she protected him?"

Sammy shook his head. "Liz says he's a sissy. She says he's only good for one thing."

Dean was shocked silent, and Steven took over.

"What's that one thing, Sammy? Did Liz tell you?"

Sammy blushed and smiled, embarrassed. "You know." he said.

"I really don't. I need you to tell me. I've never met Liz."

Sammy was silent.

"Sammy? Please? We really need to know."

"He's only good for spreadin' his legs."

Dean sat back, air knocked out of him. He exchanged looks with Bobby, startled to see the old hunter was a hair's-breadth away from tears himself.

Steven nodded. "Did Liz say why she thinks that?"

Sammy shrugged.

"Do you think we could ask her? Could you get her for us?"

Sammy shook his head.

"Why not? She's with you, isn't she?"

"She's mad."

"At who? At you?"

"No. At Dean."

Steven glanced over at the surprised look on the older boy's face. "Why is Liz mad at Dean."

Sam smiled. "She thinks Dean's hot. She wants to kiss him and stuff."

"I see." Steven was silent for a moment, looking over to Dean. "So, Liz will only talk to us if Dean agrees to kiss her?" He looked questioningly at Dean.

Dean's eyebrows shot skyward, but Steven continued. "I think it would be okay for Dean to kiss Liz just this one time if it will get her to come and talk with us?" He was speaking to Sammy but addressing Dean. "But Liz has to agree that it can't ever happen again unless it happens here in this room. Will she agree to that?"

Sammy shrugged, "Dunno. Maybe."

"Well then. It's up to Dean if he wants to kiss Liz." Steven replied, sitting back and looking down at his notepad, waiting.

"I don't think that's a good idea." Dean said coldly, addressing the doctor.

Steven nodded. "Fair enough. Sammy? Can you tell Liz that we'd like to talk to her anyway? Just ask and see what she says?"

"She's not comin'."

Steven studied the boy. "Okay. Well, maybe we'll get to meet Liz next time." He smiled. "It was very nice meeting you, Sammy. I enjoyed our talk. Can we talk to Sam now?"

Sammy shook his head.

"No? Sam doesn't want to talk to us right now?"

"Hunh uh."

"You can tell him we're nearly done now, and it's almost time for him to go home with Dean and Bobby. That might persuade him to come back." Steven smiled.

And Sam's thumb drifted down, settling back on the table as his legs unwrapped from around the chair legs.

"Uh, I don't know. Reading, I guess. Maybe messing with my laptop, riding in the Impala."

Steven smiled, "Thank you, Sam. I'm sorry that was hard for you, but you pulled it out in the end. Good work."

Sam smiled tentatively.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"We would like to share something with you? Is that okay?"

Sam shrugged, "I guess."

"Good. Just give me a minute." Steven moved to the video camera, turned it off and removed the VHS tape. He popped it in the player and pushed rewind. "Sam, this is a tape of our session today. I'd like you to see what went on."

Sam looked confused. "I know what went on?"

Steven smiled, "I think you might be surprised." He sat back down and pushed the play button, fast-forwarding to Sammy's appearance.

Then the doctor pushed 'play' again, and Sam's whole world was rocked.


	29. The Assault

Sam sat in the front passenger seat, stunned. He stared over at his brother as the older boy fumbled with his keys.

"I don't wanna be crazy, Dean." He whispered, desperate eyes shocked and terrified.

Dean looked up, startled. "What? Why would you say something like that, Sam? You're not crazy."

Sam snorted in an ugly way, "Not crazy? Not crazy? How the hell is this," he motioned to himself angrily, "not crazy?"

Dean stared him down. "You're not, Sam. You're no more crazy than I am. You've just had a rougher time of it is all. You didn't get a fair shake from the start. First Dad and then … that. Hell, it'd be crazy if you didn't feel a little mixed up."

"Mixed up." Sam shook his head derisively.

"That's all it is. You went through some things that were just too much to take, Sammy, and your mind created a way for you to cope. It's a defense mechanism. That's all it is. And the more you talk about it, the easier it's going to be to treat. You heard the doc."

"I don't want to talk about. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to have to … to deal with it. It's just too freaking insane. Why is this happening to me, Dean? Why do I deserve this?"

Dean's eyes watered, and he looked away, unable to face the pain in his little brother's voice. "You don't, Sammy. You, of all people, don't deserve this. Not any of it. And I'm so sorry it's happening to you, but refusing to face it or admit it or whatever - that's not gonna help."

Sam was silent, staring out the window.

"And for what it's worth, I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right beside you all the way, Sam. Whatever you need, you just tell me and I'll do it, okay?"

Sam looked over. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Dean was serious. "I mean that, anything."

"Unless Dad shows up, you mean?"

Dean's heart plummeted. He stole a sharp look at his brother.

"Dad's not showing up here, Sam. And even if he did, he's not gettin' anywhere near you ever again."

"Right."

"What?"

"You heard me. The minute Dad shows up here, you'll toe the line. It's ingrained in you, Dean. You couldn't stop if you tried."

Dean shook his head. "Maybe that was true once, but not anymore."

"No?"

"No."

"What changed?"

Dean sighed, "You leaving. The thought I might never see you again, might never … never get to be your big brother again. Sam, for most of my life, I've had one job. One job. And I made a major fuck-up of it. But that all changes now. You hear me?"

Sam relented, feeling guilty. "You don't have to feel responsible for me, Dean. I'm not five anymore." Then he realized the irony in that statement and barked a sharp laugh. "Well, I mean, sometimes I am." He snorted.

Dean stared, "Did you just … was that a joke?"

Sam shrugged, "Maybe."

Dean smiled. If Sam could find the humor in his situation, maybe they were going to be okay after all. He felt his load lighten just a fraction of an ounce.

"It's all gonna be okay, Sam. I promise."

But later, after Bobby had gone up to bed, and Dean was cleaning up the dinner dishes, he got a harsh dose of their new reality. Liz stopped by again, and this time, she was pissed. She crept up behind Dean, spinning him around and shoving him brutally into the wall next to the stove.

"Ow! Sam! What the hell?"

"Shut the fuck up, Dean. Just you shut the fuck up." She growled in his ear. "I'm taking what I want right now. You hear me, you fucking slut? You give it away to everybody else. You're gonna give it to me too." And she shoved her knee roughly between his, pinning him to the wall.

"Sammy …"

"You too good to kiss me, Dean? Too high and mighty? Too … too sane? You think I'm too crazy to be a good lay? Cause you got it all wrong." She licked a long stroke up his neck, making him shudder but not in a good way. "I'm the best you'll ever have, baby." she whispered, planting her lips on his and biting down til she drew blood.

Dean jerked and pushed her away, raising a hand to his mouth and tasting blood. "Stop it!"

But Liz recovered instantly, clawing at his shirt. "And you know what, baby? You're gonna lay right down for me like the little whore you are, or I'll take Sammy here to town and force him on the first innocent person I see. Think you'd like that? Visiting Sammy in jail for rape? I can do it, Dean. I can do it just like that. You think little Sammy would like prison, Dean? Cause I bet it'd LOVE him. So whattaya say, big brother?" She gripped him through his jeans.

Dean's eyes narrowed, "You're not protecting him. You're using him. You're not worried about anyone but yourself." But he stilled, all the same, her words striking terror in his heart. "Oh, and you're crazy as a fucking loon, too."

She roared then, backhanding him across the face. She shoved his head hard to the side and dug her teeth into the soft flesh of his neck, making him grunt in pain.

Dean could have thrown her off easily, but hurting Liz meant hurting Sam, and Sam had been hurt enough already. So instead, Dean held her off as best he could, refusing to fight back and resorting to defensive measures in lieu of knocking her across the room.

He shoved her away and made for the living room, but she tackled him in front of the couch, her momentum pushing him down. She ground down on top of him, spinning a torrent of filthy words as her hands fumbled at his belt.

"Get off!" Dean pushed again. But Liz had hooked both feet around his, effectively tangling them both up in a tight pretzel hold, and when her hands had tackled the belt, and she went for his fly next, Dean gave up his pride.

"Bobby!" He shouted, panicking. "Bobby! Help!"

Liz snarled as she heard the older man's feet hit the floor upstairs, and by the time he'd reached the living room, she'd rocked back and punched Dean three times in the face. The older boy lay in a bloody, struggling mess as she pawed at his jeans, trying to work them down over his hips. He was too dazed to do much to stop her as she crowed in triumph and her hands went for his boxers next.

"What the hell you doin' boy?" Bobby cried, pulling the raving, ranting boy off his brother. He pinned both of Sam's arms at his sides by wrapping him in a bear hug from behind, but Bobby was unprepared for the strength behind the boy's attack. Sam pressed both feet to the floor and shoved, propelling them both back against the staircase, and Bobby dislodged with a surprised grunt.

Then Liz went straight for Dean. Before the boy realized what had happened, she planted both hands firmly around his throat and began squeezing. "You don't fucking have to be awake for this." She hissed into his ear. "In fact. You don't even have to be alive."

Dean fought back halfheartedly at first, but as his breath began to leave him, and Liz showed no signs of letting up, he began to panic in earnest. He landed a fist hard to the side of Liz's head, knocking her onto the coffee table which splintered under her weight. The next thing Dean saw was Liz standing over him with the broken leg of the coffee table, bringing it down in a wide arc over his head. He threw up an arm to block in instinct and screamed as the wood connected and he felt the bone break.

Then Bobby was there, spinning Sam around and hitting him hard in the face with a solid straight right. Sam went down like a sack of potatoes, and the room went silent.


	30. Sweeping Up the Broken Pieces

Dean struggled to sit up, tears streaming down his face from the pain of his broken arm. His jeans fell in a heap down around his ankles, his nose bled freely, and the bite on his neck hurt like a motherfucker. He looked at Bobby where the older man stood breathing heavily over Sam's prone form, and just totally lost it.

The sobs started from down deep, and before he knew it, Dean was a weeping, moaning mess on Bobby's couch in front of his demolished coffee table.

The old hunter's heart cracked all over again as he watched Dean break. All those weeks of searching for Sam, only to find him so shattered and sad, had taken their toll. And now this.

Sam had tried, and almost succeeded, in raping Dean while under the control of one of his alters. Bobby knew the boy would have no recollection of it when he awoke, unless, of course, he awoke as Liz. And if that happened, Bobby was pretty sure he was taking Dean and heading for the damned hills. He moved to sit beside one of the boys he thought of as his son.

"Dean, boy. I'm here." He said gruffly, pulling him close. "We need to get that arm set. You up for a trip to the ER?"

Dean shook his head. "No. You can do it, can't you? I don't wanna leave Sammy alone."

Bobby sighed and nodded, "I can, but it's gonna hurt like hell, son. You sure you want that?"

Dean tried to snort, but all that came out was a grotesque mixture of snot and blood. "Nothing could hurt me worse than what just happened here, Bobby." He said miserably, swiping his good arm across his nose.

"Dean, we … " Bobby stopped, unsure of how to proceed.

"What?"

"We, well, we gotta call his doctor. This ain't good, son. This ain't good at all. Sam coulda killed you or worse here tonight. He coulda killed me. Hell, he coulda killed himself. We need help, Dean."

Dean hitched, "They're gonna wanna lock him up. I can't live with that. It's not his fault. He'd wither away locked up in a psyche ward somewhere."

"We won't let that happen. Let's just take it a step at a time, okay. We'll get this arm set, and then I'll call Doc's answering service. See if we can get a call back." He moved to get his medical supplies.

And as he left the room, Sam moaned. And Dean felt a little tremor of terror pass through him, hating himself for it afterward.

He was afraid of his brother.

Really afraid of him.

And that thought just broke his heart into too many pieces to count.

Dean steeled himself as best he could as Sam came to. He watched the boy gaze around him in confusion, realizing he was on the floor in Bobby's living room. His hands flopped a bit before he pushed himself to a seated position which lined him up perfectly with the torn and bleeding spectacle of Dean sitting on Bobby's ruined couch. His eyes went huge.

"Dean! What the hell happened? Did … did somebody break in?" He surged forward immediately, reaching for Dean's face to see the damage. And before he could help it, Dean flinched away from his brother.

Sam froze instantly, eyes going wide. His gaze traveled over his brother, noting the blood and the awkward angle that Dean sat cradling his injured arm. He saw the bruising on Dean's face and the ugly purple marks on his neck and then his gaze traveled downward to see his brother's pants pushed down around his ankles, and his face went white like a ghost.

Just as Dean's mouth opened to reassure his brother, Bobby charged in like the cavalry, pushing Sam back out of the way. "Get away from him!"

"Bobby! Don't! It's Sam!" Dean cried out, too late. Too damned late.

Sam fell backward onto his butt on the floor, but he didn't try to right himself. The look in Bobby's eyes told him everything.

"I did this."

"Sammy, no … "

I did. I did this. I … I hurt you." The younger boy's eyes filled with tears as they roamed over his broken brother again.

"Oh God, Dean … did I … did I … rape you?" Sam was beginning to hyperventilate.

"No, Sam. Of course not." Dean said sharply, trying to ground his brother. "This wasn't you. Nothing about this was you."

"You're lying. Dean, you're a terrible liar." Sam tried to smile painfully.

"Sam, go into the kitchen." Bobby instructed coldly.

"What? Why?"

"Cause I'm about to set your brother's arm, and you don't wanna see this. Now go!"

"It's broken? Dean? I broke your arm?" Sam's eyes moved to his own arm that was now missing its cast. "Where did? I … How?" He tried to ask, but Bobby chose that moment to realign Dean's broken bone, and the air was split with a howl of pained agony.

Sam jolted up from the floor and ran up the stairs, bedroom door slamming behind him.


	31. Time to Let Me Go

Dean stood at the base of the stairs, uncertain.

"You want me to come with you?" Bobby asked, "I mean, it's Sam."

"I know … I just …"

"You have to talk to him, son. If he thinks you blame him … well … it'd be the end of his world. You know the idjit idolizes you."

"It's not that … "

"Then what?"

Dean stared at the older man, "I don't know what to say to fix this, Bobby. I … don't. I'd never blame Sam for something he has no control over. But you can bet he's blaming himself."

Bobby sighed. "Just go to him, Dean. The words will come like they always do. In the meantime, I'll call the doc. Now go on unless you want me to drag you up those damn steps by the scruff of your neck."

Dean smiled without meaning it, but he put one foot in front of the other until he was standing in front of Sam's door. He took a deep breath and opened it without knocking.

Dean heard a gasp and saw movement in his peripheral vision. Sam was sitting on the floor against the wall to his left. He'd hastily pulled a pillow into his lap and sat looking at Dean like a deer caught in the lamps of a redneck's truck.

Dean swallowed and instantly looked away, assuming he'd caught his brother in an intimate moment. "Uh, Sorry, Sammy. I … uh … I was worried about you. I'm sorry. I should have knocked."

"It's okay," Sam answered in a voice striving hard not to sound panicked.

"If you … uh … wanna finish … I'll come back." Dean turned without glancing at his brother again.

"Hunh?" Sam asked, perplexed, and from the tone of his voice, Dean could tell he wasn't faking. The older boy looked over.

"Oh, I just thought … you know … that you were … uh …"

Sam blinked, blushing furiously. He shook his head emphatically. "You thought I was … after I … after I just … hurt you like that?" A tear broke free, and his face crumpled. "You must really think I'm a bastard."

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed facing Sam. "Don't say that! And I already told you, it wasn't you, Sam."

Sam stared silently.

Dean smiled reassuringly, "So what's with the pillow then, hunh? Kinda obvious you got something there you don't want me to see."

Sam swallowed and shook his head. "No. It's nothing. Nothing important."

Dean frowned. "No secrets, Sammy. Isn't that what we agreed? Bobby and I, we need to know what's going on with you, man, so we can help you through it."

"I said it's nothing." Sam sniffed. "How are you, anyway? You look awful."

Dean grinned, "Nice try, little brother, but you're talking to the king of redirection here." And he reached down without warning and snatched the pillow away, expecting to find the stuffed bear.

The .45 was a bit of a surprise.

Dean's smile faded instantly, and his face blanched. His eyes found Sam's. "Sammy … no."

Sam's eyes pleaded with his brother to forgive him. "I … I hurt you. I … that can't happen ever again. I can't let it, Dean. Not you, okay? Anyone else. Not you. Not Bobby."

Dean blinked rapidly. "It won't Sam. We're gonna get you help. Now come on. This … this isn't the solution. Now give." He held out his hand.

Sam sat still, holding tight to the weapon. "I hurt you, Dean. And I think I must have tried to do more, but I can't … I can't remember. But dammit, the way you and Bobby looked at me. I just …"

"It's never been like that, Sam. You know that. There's nothing you could ever do that would be worth … this. Now hand it over."

Sam made no move to comply, but he didn't pull away when Dean settled down beside him on the floor and gently slipped the weapon out the younger boy's shaking hand.

Dean checked the gun for ammunition and swore when he found one bullet in the chamber. He emptied it and threw the hateful thing across the room. "So how long you been thinkin' about this?"

"Since I … since the couch." Sam whispered. "Dean, your jeans. your neck. It's not right. I'm not … safe. You shouldn't have come up here. What if I wasn't me?" He turned haunted eyes in his brother's direction. "Tell me what happened."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Sammy."

Sam looked at him, "Please? I'm begging you. Tell me. This not knowing, this not … remembering. It's driving me crazy. I don't know how much longer I can take it."

Dean shook his head, "It wasn't you, man. That's all you need to know."

Sam nodded, pressing his lips together. "Did I choke you?"

Dean was silent.

"What happened to your jeans?"

"Sammy …"

"Who bit you, Dean?"

"Sammy, stop it."

"How did I break your arm? Why didn't you fight me off? I know you could have."

The older boy shook his head, "You've been hurt enough."

"And you haven't?" Sam accused.

Dean chose his next words carefully. "Sam, do you remember when the doc showed you the tape of the session? He asked to talk to Liz?"

Sam nodded.

"And I said I didn't think that kissing Liz was a good idea?"

Sam blushed again, nodding.

"Well … it was Liz who … visited me tonight."

Sam blinked, "A girl did this?" One corner of his mouth twitched in surprise.

Dean saw and blushed, "Shut up. She caught me by surprise, okay? Besides, she was wearing your damned skin. What was I gonna do? Knock her out?"

Sam nodded emphatically. "Yes, Dean! Of course you knock her out. You don't let her … me … do … this!" And he gestured to Dean's massive injuries.

"Sam?"

"What?"

"Have you ever talked with Liz? I mean, have you met her?"

Sam shook his head.

Dean nodded. "Well, she's a pip. Let me tell you."

Sam bit his lip, "So this … this Liz … this alter. She wanted to … you know … have sex with you?"

Dean nodded, looking away.

Sam pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face in his arms, "What's wrong with me, Dean? Who does something like that to … to their brother? I'm a pervert. Just a … a sick monster. I tried to force you. That's what he would have done. I'm no better than … than … him."

Dean's eyes widened, "Don't you dare ever say something like that!"

"It's true. What if I'd had cuffs? What if Bobby hadn't been here? What if it happens again?"

Dean shook his head, "No comparison, Sammy. So don't even try."

Sam was silent for a moment before shifting to look into his brother's eyes. "Dean, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry." his face crumbled then, and he could no longer help the sobs that took him over.

Dean reached over and pulled him close. "Shhh, Sammy. It's all okay. It's all gonna be okay. I promise. As long as I'm here, ain't nothing gonna happen to you. I'll take a hundred beatings before I'll let it. You hear me? You have to hear me, Sammy. It's you and me together. Don't ever forget it, and don't go trying to check out early either. Don't you do that. Not ever."

"I need to go away, Dean."

"What?"

"Away. Away from you. Away from Bobby. I need to go someplace where I can't ever hurt you again, or hurt myself or hurt anyone else. Dean! You need to let me go."

Dean's voice broke as he pressed his brother's head to his shirt. "Can't do it, Sammy. Don't you ask me to. You're not allowed to ask that. That's not how this works."

"But it's not working, Dean. This. What we're doing. How we're handling my … my disease. It's not working. I need to be locked away somewhere where I can't hurt anyone else. Dean, I need … I need to be institutionalized and you know it."

Dean closed his eyes then, and rocked his brother gently - just as he'd done in one form or another all his life."I'm not letting them take you away, Sammy. I'm not. I'll take care of you. I won't let anything happen to you. Not ever again."

"Dean, what if …"

"What if what?"

"What if I hurt myself? I really want to. I want to do it right now. It's all I can think about. After what I did to you … I deserve it … I deserve to be locked up. I'm sick, Dean. I'm a monster. I'm like … something you should hunt."

But Dean was past the point of being able to speak without crying. He sat silent, gently stroking his little brother's hair, lost in memories of better days.

But suddenly, Sam was calm. "You have to let me go, Dean. Something terrible is going to happen if you don't. I can feel it. Don't you understand? Time is running out. It's time for you to let me go."


	32. Loving Liz

"Hating Liz, trying to 'lock her away' or suppress her is not an approach I recommend, Sam, for several reasons." Steven explained. "For one thing, she's a part of you. This fact alone makes her worthy of love. Secondly, the more you try to silence Liz, the more desperate she's going to fight to be heard. For instance, imagine yourself in a room filled with people. Everyone is milling around, talking, having a good time, and you want to join in. So you try to speak, but find you suddenly have no voice. What's your first response, Sam? What emotion do you think you would experience first?"

"Maybe confusion? I'd wonder why I couldn't talk, I think."

Steven nodded, "Good. What else?"

"Um, maybe worry? Anxiety? I might get scared if it went on for awhile?"

"Exactly. Now let me ask you this: How would you react? Would you simply give up and go sit quietly in a corner? Would you leave the party altogether? Or would you speak louder, hoping it would make you heard? Would you wave your hands around to try to capture people's attention to let them know there was something wrong?"

Sam thought about his answer. "I'd try harder to be heard, I think. I'd do whatever it took to make people notice me."

Steven sat back, smiling. "There you go."

Sam looked over at Dean, thunderstruck. "So you mean this is what Liz is feeling? If I try to keep her quiet, keep her from 'coming out,' she's going to panic?"

"I think so. I think she may already be having those feelings, based upon what you've told me. Sam, Liz is a part of you. Right or wrong, she fulfills a need that you can't express, so she expresses it for you."

Sam stared. "She wants to have sex with my brother!"

Steven chuckled, "You're taking this all too literally, Sam. I want you to think about this. What is the act of sex really? I mean, what does it ultimately entail?"

Sam exchanged a confused look with his brother. "I don't know. I don't understand what you're asking me?"

"Sex is an act of closeness, right? Of intimacy. It's the ultimate way to be close to someone you care about. You said you and Dean had recently spent time apart. Did you enjoy the separation, Sam?"

Sam shook his head.

"So it wasn't your idea? It was Dean's?" Steven looked to the older boy for confirmation.

Sam shook his head. "No, neither of us wanted it. I just … I ran away because my father … my father hurt me, and I was afraid if I stayed, he would hurt Dean too."

"So you ran from Dean to protect him?"

Sam nodded. "In a roundabout way. It's kind of a long story."

"But neither of you wanted the separation, right?"

"Right."

"How long were you apart?"

"A few weeks."

"And did you talk regularly on the phone?"

Sam shook his head. "No."

"So you were apart from Dean for several weeks, following a traumatic incident, and you missed him but were unable to talk to him at all?"

"Pretty much."

"You were lonely?"

"Yes."

"On a scale of 1 to 10, Sam. At the end of those few weeks, how lonely were you for Dean? How badly did you wish you could see him again?"

"On a scale of 1 to 10?" Sam clarified, "About a 99."

Steven smiled at the boy's candor. "What did you miss exactly? And if you'd rather Dean left the room for this question, I'm sure he wouldn't mind?" He addressed the question to Dean.

"No, that's okay. He can stay." Sam replied quickly. "Do you mean, like, specific things I missed about him?"

Steven nodded. "Yes, as specific as you can be."

"Oh, well. okay. Um, I guess I … I missed the way he always looks out for me. I remember being in the hospital wishing he was there to take charge so I'd know exactly what was happening when they refused to tell me anything. Uh, I missed telling him about my day and I missed riding in the Impala with him. Mostly I think I missed the way I, uh, always feel safe when he's around. I really really wished he was there when those boys dragged me off the bench and ..." Sam fell silent, his face pink. He didn't dare to look over at Dean after that lengthy confession. But Dean surprised him with a comforting hand on his arm.

Steven suddenly looked concerned. "Would you like to talk about the boys, Sam? Did something more happen that night than you've told us?"

Sam shook his head, "No, but I thought it was probably going to. I was pretty terrified, I guess. When they just kicked me again and walked away, I was relieved."

"So are you seeing a theme here, Sam? Dean?"

Sam thought about what he'd just said. "So, Liz is so desperate to have sex with Dean because I secretly missed him so much?"

Steven shook his head, "Almost, but not quite. I think Liz asking for, or rather demanding, sex from Dean feels less awkward to you than you walking over and putting your arms around him and telling him how much you missed him. Liz is a female. It's okay for a woman to want to be close to your brother, but I think maybe you feel like you shouldn't ask for closeness because you're male and he's male, and it's not manly. Tell me this, when you both were growing up, was it okay to show affection to each other in front of your father? Or did he think such displays were inappropriate or embarrassing?"

Dean snorted, and Sam did a spot-on impression of their father, "Man-up Sam and stop cuddling with your brother. Be a Winchester for cripe's sake."

Steven looked intrigued, "How old were you when your father told you to stop cuddling with your brother?"

Sam shrugged, looking at Dean. "Not sure. Four maybe? Five?"

"Five?" Steven repeated back to Sam questioningly, eyebrows raised. "Five is an interesting number for you, isn't it, Sam?"

Sam sat stunned. And Dean wasn't far behind him. "You think that's why Sammy is five?" the older boy asked.

Steven shrugged. "I think it's a good possibility."

Sam stared, "So if I learn how to ask Dean for … for … I guess … affection when I feel like I need it. Do you think Liz will feel better? That she'll behave?"

"All we can do is try. Do you feel comfortable asking? And Dean, do you feel comfortable reciprocating?"

Dean nodded, "Sure. I already told Sammy I'm here for him. I'll do whatever he needs."

The doctor looked pensive, "But that's not what happened in session last week, is it?"

Dean looked startled. "What?"

Do you remember when Liz wanted you to kiss her? And you refused? And then later that night, she attacked you."

"Well, yeah, but …"

"But what?"

"Well, I mean, we can't go around kissing each other, right?"

"Why not?"

"What!" Both boys yelped.

Steven laughed, "I mean, after all, Liz only asked for a kiss. She didn't say where or what kind. Forehead? Cheek, maybe? Maybe just a brotherly hug. Interaction like this may not be considered necessarily "manly" by some, but it's perfectly within the realms of acceptable behavior for brothers, especially when one is so young and has been through the amount of recent trauma that Sam has experienced. The point is, Dean, that Sam needs you right now more than he's ever needed you in the past, and it sounds to me as though he's always needed you quite a bit. So it's okay to step up the affection that you feel for him. It is genuine, is it not?"

Dean's forehead wrinkled, "Of course."

The doctor nodded. "I thought so. I've noticed how you interact with the people around you, Dean - with my receptionist and with Mr. Singer and even with me. You're a take-charge, slightly cocky personality. And then you turn to your brother and everything changes. From your body language to the tone of your voice, you become almost an entirely different person when you're speaking to Sam."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You're kinder, more gentle. you exhibit more patience with Sam than you do with other people close to you. It's obvious to anyone watching that Sam is the most important person in your life. And I'm pretty sure it's been that way from the beginning, right?"

Dean stared.

"Dean pulled me out of a fire when he was four years old. I mean, literally - he carried me from a burning house. He saved my life."

Steven smiled and nodded. "That doesn't surprise me. Where was your father when the house was burning?"

Dean answered, "He was trying to save our mother. He failed."

Steven nodded, "So twice now Dean has saved you from a fire?"

Sam realized that was true and nodded.

"So the first time you would have been an infant. But this last time, can you tell me a little about that day? About exactly what happened?"

Sam shrugged, "Dean probably has a better handle on it than I do. I was gagged and … and blindfolded and cuffed to a … to a bed." He looked sick.

"You still feel ill when you think about that day?"

Sam nodded.

"Why Sam? Why does talking or thinking about that still make you feel bad? You're aware that it's behind you?"

"Well, yes, but …" the younger boy paused.

"But what?"

"Well, this time it was too close, you know? When Dean pulled the blindfold off, and I saw how bad the fire really was, I thought he was going to die too. I thought we were both goners, and I had sort of accepted it for me, I guess. But I wasn't expecting Dean to throw himself in front of the train, you know? I didn't wanna take him down with me. I didn't want him to die because of me."

"Did you have the opportunity to tell him that?"

Sam nodded.

"And what was his reaction?"

Sam smiled then, "He said something like, 'I'm not leaving you.'" The younger boy gazed over at his brother. "And he didn't."

"Why do you think that is Sam?"

"Because he's my brother."

"And?"

"And he's always said it's his job to look out for me?"

"And?"

Sam paused, "And because he … he loves me, I guess?"

Steven smiled. "Now Sam, could you do me a favor? I'd like you to close your eyes and focus on finding Liz for me. You don't have to ask her to talk to us, but I'd like you to relay your last realization. I'd like you to tell her that Dean loves you."

"Loves me or loves her?" Sam tried to clarify, afraid of riling up his aggressive alter.

"Doesn't matter, Sam. Liz is you. You're one and the same. You don't even have to say it out loud. Just envision it in your mind. You're talking with Liz, and you're going to tell her that Dean loves you enough to risk his very existence to save you. Go ahead."

Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He sat still for a moment before the muscles in his face began to move. He jerked involuntarily several times, then stilled. His eyes opened.

"How do you feel, Sam?" Steven asked.

Silence.

"Sam?"

Sam sat on, staring at nothing.

Steven leaned forward, gazing into the younger boy's eyes. "Sam? Can you hear me?" He snapped his fingers in Sam's face, but the boy didn't flinch.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, concerned. "Sammy? You in there?"

When Sam continued to sit and silently stare straight ahead, Steven rose from his chair and came to stand in front of him. He reached down and pulled the boy gently to his feet until they were face-to-face. "Sam Winchester, I need you to answer me if you can. Are you in the room? Sam?"

Nothing.

"Dean, I need you to face Sam and talk to him. Coax him to come back to us."

Dean rose quickly, concerned, and moved to stand before his brother. He aligned himself with the boy's vacant, staring eyes. "Hey Sammy. Hey, can you hear me, little bro? It's me, Sam. It's time to come back now. Can you hear me? Sammy. Come on back to us now, okay?"

Still nothing.

"What's going on? What's happening to him?" Dean's voice was panicked.

"It's fine, Dean. It's just another alter - one we've not seen."

"Well, why ain't it talking to us?"

"I'm not sure. He or she may be too young to talk, or possibly, too traumatized."


	33. Facing Dad

"I don't want to send Sam home with you like this, Dean." Steven explained. "I'd like to admit him here for observation."

Dean shook his head. "No way. I'm not locking my brother up."

"I don't feel comfortable with this. I'm afraid Sam may be in distress. If you take him home and something happens …"

"I'll call you. Just like before. But Sam is coming with me. If he's not better … not vocal in a few days, I'll bring him back." Dean stood up and reached for his brother. "Come on, Sammy. Time to go."

Sam stood and let Dean take his hand. He let himself be led to the door.

"I've got him, Doc" Dean promised. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to him."

But Dean found he couldn't quite keep that promise.

###

"What happened?" Bobby asked, studying the silent boy as he sat motionless on the porch swing.

Dean shook his head. "He just stopped talking. Stopped reacting. The doc thinks it's another alter."

"Well, why don't he say anything?"

"He could be too young to talk or … or too traumatized."

Bobby turned a pale shade of green. "What the hell did John do to that boy?"

"They wanted to keep him Bobby." Dean confessed. "I just … I just couldn't leave him there all alone. Not like this."

"Well balls! Of course not! So how do we snap him out of it?"

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair, "I don't know, but I need a beer in the worst way."

"Well come on then." Bobby led the way to the kitchen. "You think it's okay to leave him out here like this?"

"I don't think he's going anywhere."

Dean stopped on the way through the living room to pick up the tattered stuffed bear. He carried it with him into the kitchen and smiled when Bobby turned to hand him his beer. The older man did a double take.

"Now don't you go regressing back to bein' five years old," The old hunter complained, "Or I'll kick your ass."

Dean smiled, "I'm gonna take this back outside. You coming?"

Bobby nodded. "I'll be there in a minute. Gotta stir the soup."

"What is it with you and soup, anyway?"

Bobby glared, "I don't ever see you refusin' your share, ya idjit." He growled.

Dean snickered as he stepped back onto the porch and studied the boy who sat upon it looking so lost. His grin faded then, and he stooped down in front of his brother, placing the bear gently in his arms.

"Hey Sammy. Can you hear me? I brought you Ben. I thought he might … might make you feel better?" He smiled and batted a strand of blond hair away from Sam's eye. "I'm sorry it didn't go so well with the doc today, but I wish you'd talk to me. Haven't seen you in awhile. I miss you, Sammy."

When Sam made no reply, Dean sighed and settled himself down onto the swing beside his brother, his arm across the back of his shoulders. Well, I'll just sit here a bit, and if you feel like you wanna talk, I'll listen, okay?"

Dean looked off to the right where he could see a faint cloud of dust far away. "Hey, that looks like someone's coming up the drive, Sammy. What do you think?"

His brother gave no reply, but suddenly Dean had a really bad feeling. And when the old tan beater barrelled into view, moving fast, Dean rose from the porch swing and placed himself between Sam and whoever was about to slide out from the behind the wheel.

"Bobby!" He called, trying not to sound panicked. Then louder, "Bobby!"

The screen door creaked open, "I heard ya the first time, ya idjit. What?"

"It's Dad."

Bobby looked. "Well, balls!"

"I'm takin' Sam inside." Dean decided, turning toward his brother. But Dean stopped at the look on the boy's face. Dean had seen terror in his day. He faced it nearly every day, in fact - every time he or Sam or his dad had gone up against a vampire or wendigo or a ghoul. He'd been naked scared plenty of times, but until today, he'd never realized what true horror looked like. Sam was white - corpse white. His body shook with tremors and his eyes teared. He looked up at Dean and spoke in a shaky voice.

"I told you he would come. I knew he would. He's gonna … Dean. Don't … please don't let him." Sam stood, wrapping his arms tight around the porch post. "Don't. Don't let him take me off somewhere alone, please Dean? Promise me." Sam was so scared his voice trembled.

Dean filed his brother's disturbing words away for later as he stepped over and wrapped a firm arm around Sam's waist, planting himself with his brother. "He's not taking you anywhere, Sam. He's not gonna touch you. I promise. Bobby and I are here, and we're gonna keep you safe."

John stepped out of the car, smiling. He took in the scene before him - Bobby planted firmly on the steps, blocking his path, and his boys rooted together to a porch post. His eyes narrowed.

"Suddenly I get the feeling I'm not welcome." He said, only half-kidding. He stopped his advance toward the porch and leaned back against the grill of the car instead.

He nodded, "Bobby. Boys. How've you been?"

"Been just fine without you, Dad. Don't you worry about us." Dean replied. "Why are you here?"

John studied them, not responding. "What the hell happened to your hair, Sam?"

The younger boy didn't reply, but Dean felt a shiver go through him.

"Well?" John barked, "I asked you a question, boy!"

Sam whimpered. His mouth opened but nothing came out.

"Boy dyed his hair is what happened," Bobby said calmly. "You were sixteen once."

John nodded, "And your arm, Dean? You look beat to hell. Who did that? Cause I'm kicking their ass."

Sam began to heave. He let go of the porch post and darted down the steps to the side of the house where he fell to his knees and lost his lunch. Dean was right behind him. But when John took a step toward his boys, Bobby placed himself in the way. "You should go, John. You ain't welcome here anymore."

John's eyebrows shot skyward, "Since when?"

"Since Sam told us you been beatin' him since he was five years old." Bobby's voice was charged with fury.

"Sam told you … That's a lie! I never laid a hand on him that he didn't need! Dean, you were there! Tell him!"

Dean glared at his father from his spot beside Sam, "I was there. And it all makes sense now, Dad. How could you? He was fucking five years old!"

John shook his head. "I don't know what you heard, Dean, but that never happened. Tell the truth Sam."

"It's … it's true." Sam argued softly. "I … I have the sc-scars."

John blinked. "You have scars? Of course you have scars! You're a hunter!"

"Stop it, Dad. The jig's up, okay? We know everything." Dean argued.

"Why?" Sam whispered, "Why won't you admit it? Tell them what you did. Tell them!" He stumbled angrily across the yard and confronted the man who'd tortured him. "Why? Just tell me why? That's it. That's all I want to know and I'll never ask you anything ever again. I just wanna know why."

John glared at his youngest son, "You wanna know why. You wanna know why? Cause you came out of the damned WOMB with a smart mouth, that's why. You question every damned thing. You never could take an order. And it was only a matter of time, a matter of time, Sam, until your shitty attitude got one of us killed. So there! Now you know. That's why!"

Sam stared, "You … you tortured me since I was five because … because I questioned your authority?"

John snorted, "Torture? That was discipline, Sam. If I'd wanted you tortured, you'd damn well know it."

"Was it?" Sam asked, "Discipline, I mean? Was it discipline when you held my head in a sink full of hot water because I dropped a dish? Was it discipline when you locked me in the trunk of the car for that whole week that Dean was gone hunting that spirit in Oklahoma? I was seven, Dad! Seven. For seven damn days, you left me in there! How is that discipline? You tell me, Dad!"

John just sneered, "That was to keep you safe, boy! I knew you'd take off the minute Dean was gone. If I coulda trusted you, I could have at least left the gag off."

Sam smiled, tears rolling down his face. "It was 40 degrees out, Dad! You left me in my pajamas …" His voice broke. "It was like … like being buried alive!"

Dean and Bobby stared, horror painting both their features.

"And then remember the time the hot water ran out during my shower and you made me stay in there all night under the cold water? All night! Hours and hours! I was so cold I couldn't straighten out my legs, and you had to carry me. That's not discipline! That's abuse!"

John glared, growing angrier by the minute. "Do you think this is going to drum up some sympathy for your plight, Sam? You are what you are. It's not my fault. I didn't make you this way."

Sam took a step back, swallowing hard, "What way? What are you talking about?"

John smiled then, eyes narrowing, "Crazy, Sam. I'm talking about crazy. I'm talking about you and how you just … check out … from time to time. I'm talking about all the other … people … you got rolling around in there. Crazy."

Sam took another step back, shaking his head. "I'm not. I'm not crazy."

Dean stepped forward, furious. "You knew all this time? How long have you known?"

John shrugged. "Long enough. But none of that's important now, Dean. I came to get you both. There's a hunt, and I can't do it alone."


	34. A Healing Encounter

"The only crazy one here is you, Dad. You really think we're going anywhere with you after just hearing what you've done?"

John shook his head. "You don't wanna come, Dean? Fine. You're an adult. Sam is a minor. He goes with me now, or I come back with the local sheriff, and he comes with me then."

Sam backed away, shaking his head, "I'm not, I'm not going with you. You can't make me."

Dean's eyes blazed. "You sure you wanna play that card, Dad? Cause Sam has a psychiatrist who's more than willing to tell your sheriff what's going on with him and why. All it takes is a phone call. Now, they might let you take Sam anyway, but you won't have him for long - not once they haul your abusive ass off to jail. You sure you really want that?"

John smiled, "Never happen, Dean. A father has rights."

"You gave up any rights you had the first time you pushed Sam's head underwater, the first time you locked him in the trunk of a car." Bobby spoke up. "Those revelations came out in front of witnesses, John, and I sure ain't holdin' back. I'll do what I have to do to save that boy. Don't you think for one second I won't."

John was silent, as though contemplating his options. Finally, he addressed Dean. "So what? Now you're just gonna push me out of your life? You don't have a father anymore?"

Dean swallowed back the tears that threatened to come. Up until a few weeks ago, he'd worshipped the ground John Winchester had walked on. He was still reeling from how quickly it had all gone bad.

"Get some help, Dad. If you get some help, maybe then we'll talk about being a family again - you and me anyway. What Sam decides to do is up to him. And I'll be honest with you up front, he's my priority. If he says he never wants to see you again, I'm fine with that. And wherever Sam is, that's where I'll be until he doesn't need me anymore. I may have failed him miserably up to this point, but that all ends today."

John sneered. "Get some help." He repeated with disgust. "I'm not the one that needs help in this family and you all know it." He directed his next words at Sam. "I'm disappointed in you, boy. I never thought you'd go to this much trouble to avoid the hunting life. You're soft, you're lazy, and you're breaking your mother's heart. You know she can look down on you and see what you've become. You're a disappointment, Sam - always have been, always will be. Only now you're draggin' your brother into your crazy right alongside you."

"Shut up." Dean warned, taking a step forward. "Don't you say another word." He glanced over at his brother to gauge the damage his father's words were inflicting and was surprised to Sam looked angry instead of terrified. In fact, the look on his brother's face as his father berated him was downright scary. "Sammy …" Dean took a step in his direction.

But Sammy was gone. In his place was the man Dean had met that night in the motel room, and he apparently wasn't one to back down from a fight. Sam strode forward with confidence, placing himself between his father and brother.

"Is that right?" He smiled. "If I didn't know better, John, I'd say you're scared." And he winked.

John took a step back, eyes narrowing, "What did you just say to me, boy?"

Sam took a step forward, "I'm not your boy. And I think I speak for everyone here when I tell you we're done taking your shit, Sam especially. I think it's time for you to go, old man."

"Sam, espec …?" John looked lost for a moment, then he nodded with understanding, looking to Bobby. "Yeah, there's no crazy going on here, is there?"

"Wrong answer," Sam growled, and leaped. He landed on his father like a sack of bricks, taking advantage of John's surprise to rain a barrage of punches down on the older man's face while keeping up a running litany of warnings. "You're never hurting Sammy again, you son of a bitch. Because if you do, you'll answer to me."

But John Winchester still outweighed his son by a solid 100 pounds and twenty-odd years of experience. And once he recovered from the shock, he rolled them over so Sam was beneath him and began delivering another one of his painful "lessons."

Dean rushed forward to stop the massacre, but Bobby stopped him. "Just hold on, son. Let Sam handle it until he can't anymore."

And sure enough, in one swift move that caught his father by surprise, Sam turned the tables. He rolled them both over twice until they were up against the car in the dirt, and he grabbed his father by the hair and thumped his head into the metal - once, twice, three times. He followed it up with a well-placed knee to the groin that left the older man curled up in a fetal position. He struggled to his feet, aiming a final kick to John's ribs and then backed away, swiping blood from his face with the back of his hand.

"You dirty, filthy cheat." John moaned, holding his groin. "You don't fight like a man."

Sam smiled, "Right. I learned that from my father. You can thank him for that."

Dean surged forward, spinning his brother around and studying his face. "Sammy, you okay?" He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped blood from his brother's mouth.

But Sam pushed him gently away. "I'm fine. I got this."

Dean stepped back, surprised. "But …"

"Dean." Bobby cautioned gently. "Let him handle it."

The three stood watching as John pulled himself to his feet without speaking, and climbed painfully behind the wheel. "This … isn't over." He threatened.

Sam nodded and spoke, his voice cold, "It is over. Don't come back here. Ever."

John snarled at his youngest son and backed away in a cloud of angry dust, tires spinning loudly as he shot down the drive.

They watched him go until he was nothing more than a cloud of brown dust, then Sam turned toward his family and grinned, "Need a beer in the worst damned way."

 _ **Author's Note**_ _\- Thanks for all the lovely reviews and the follows and the favorites. This is the perfect place for an ending, but I'm anticipating that anyone reading will want to see how Sam learns to handle his disorder instead of letting it continue to handle him. So on we go ... for a little while at least :)_


	35. Billy

Dean sat across the table from his younger brother recognizing nothing about him, which was a shame because this version of Sam was one Dean could really get behind. He was confident, funny and had a mouth like a sailor.

And he could probably have drunk Dean under the table if he wasn't trapped inside a body that had no tolerance to alcohol. Dean had the feeling this guy worked hard, played harder and didn't hesitate to celebrate his victories.

If Dean had to guess, he would have pegged aggressive Sam as about 30 years old at least. He was like an older version of what Dean imagined himself to be one day, and as much as he wanted his brother to recover, Dean was going to regret losing this alter.

"So, you know Sam?" Dean asked nonchalantly, after the second round of beers.

The alter sat back, smiling. "Good kid, Sam. Sammy too. Known 'em both for years." He tipped his bottle back again.

Dean stared, "How many years is that, exactly?"

Aggressive Sam studied Dean with an amused look, "I'm 32, Dean. Is that what you want to know?"

"It's a start." Dean commented. "So … what's your name?"

"Billy. And it's nice to meet you too." Sam smirked.

"So … Billy," Bobby cut in, "How, uh, how did you - you know - how did you and Sam meet?"

Billy stared hard at his beer before raising regretful eyes to Bobby, "At the bottom of a lake. We met at the bottom of a lake."

Dean spit out his beer. "What?"

Billy took a long swig off his third beer and swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, addressing Dean. "Remember Lake Delton, Wisconsin? You were 13, Sam woulda been 9 that summer. The water spirit?"

Dean nodded, thinking back. That had been an odd summer.

Billy could see where Dean's thoughts were going. "Sam was off that summer, remember? He was … melancholy. Of course, that was before he met me."

"Where does the bottom of the lake fit in?"

Billy shrugged, "I think it just all got to be too much that summer. You were gone a lot. Sam was alone with his father, and that never went well. Sam was … lonely, depressed. "

Dean felt sick. He'd had a girlfriend that summer. It had been the first time ever that Dean had discouraged Sam from following him everywhere he went. Thinking back, he thought he might have even told Sam he was a being a pest once or twice.

Dean stared at Bobby. "How did I miss all of it? All of it? There were so many signs."

Billy smiled, "Don't beat yourself up, Dean. You're the only reason he let me bring him to shore that day. He had a death grip on the bottom of that dock, determined to drown or die trying. It wasn't til I mentioned leaving you all alone with John that he let go." Billy leaned forward, pinning Dean with a stare. "So maybe it was you saved him, 'stead of me." He shrugged. "I think I might be drunk."

Bobby spoke up, "We'd like to talk more if you're up to it."

Billy nodded, his stare a bit glassy-eyed. "Shoot."

Dean and Bobby exchanged glances, "Do you know Liz?"

Billy's face tightened. He snorted. "Doesn't everyone?"

"What do you mean?"

"You talkin' Liz Liz? The Liz that tries to jump everything male within twenty miles of wherever she's currently bedding down?"

"That'd be her." Dean agreed. "So you've met her?"

"We've had a few … exchanges."

"What's that mean, exchanges?"

Billy sighed. "I don't much care for her, myself. She's … done things to Sam. I don't like it. Don't like her."

Dean frowned, "What kind of things?"

"Mean things. Hurtful things. Things nobody should have to endure, least of all Sam."

Dean's face blanched. "Details?"

Billy shrugged. "You don't want to know, Dean. Trust me."

"I do. I need to - to help Sam. Don't you want to help him too?"

Billy stared hard at the younger boy. "She chokes him with his belt. That's one of her favorites. Liz likes it … likes it rough, you know. She uses the belt to add to the whole experience. She strung him up in a closet once when you and John were off hunting together. He almost died. I had to cut him down. That whole scene, it's fine if you're into it. Liz is in a big way, but Sam - he hates it. It scares him. She doesn't give him any choices."

Dean blinked.

"She burns him sometimes … with candle wax. I've told her you have to use special candles for things like that, but she just picks up whatever's close and hurts him with it. She likes it when he hurts, likes to hear him beg, I think. Liz has some serious issues."

Dean's voice was ragged, "How do we … how do we stop her from hurting him?"

Billy stretched, almost falling off his chair. "Don't know. I've been trying for seven years now. You think of something, you let me know. I'm goin' to bed."

Dean and Bobby watched as Billy stumbled up the stairs to bed, Bobby wondering how Sam had managed to survive at all and Dean wondering how in the hell they were going to continue to keep him alive.


	36. The Long Spiral Down

"You've had an exciting two days, I think." Steven said thoughtfully, after listening to everything Dean had to tell him.

It was Billy sitting in Sam's chair for the session, and Steven had set up the video camera immediately upon realizing it.

"So, Billy, You've been hanging out with Dean and Bobby since John showed up?"

Billy nodded. "Guilty as charged."

"Why is that?"

"They have beer." Billy deadpanned, and grinned.

And Steven had to fight to keep from being taken aback at the blinding brightness of the smile that emanated from the face before him. Typically, Sam was quiet, shy, withdrawn and the doctor had never been graced with one of his blazing smiles. He suddenly had a vision of how Sam would be - of how he would act - had his life not been so cruel.

The thought saddened the wizened man, but he made an effort to smile anyway.

"You're joking. Does that mean you feel relaxed?"

Billy shrugged. "I can relax anywhere, mostly."

"You like people." It was an observation.

"Sure. Why not? People aren't so bad."

"Do you think Sam would say the same?"

Billy's smile faded then. "No, likely not. Sam hasn't really had a fair shake."

"Why do you say that? Have you witnessed some of the things that have happened to him?"

Billy's eyes suddenly looked haunted. "I have, but I'm not gonna give you any play-by-plays. It's up to Sam what he feels like sharing. Anything else would be a betrayal."

Steven blinked. "You're protective of Sam. Are you related to him?"

"We're brothers."

Steven studiously avoided looking at Dean, but could see the boy's jaw drop out of the corner of his eye.

"I see. Does that mean you're Dean's brother then too? You know Sam and Dean are brothers?"

Billy smiled, glancing over at Dean. "I'd be happy to say Dean was my brother, but he's not. It's just been Sam and me since the lake."

Steven nodded. "I see. Is Sam okay? I think Dean and Bobby are probably a little worried about him."

"As long as I'm here, he's okay. And I'm not going anywhere as long as John is a threat."

"So you plan to stay until you're sure John isn't coming back?"

Billy nodded.

"Why?"

"Because Sam needs me to." He turned to Dean. "No offense, but Sam can't trust you not to side with your father against him, Dean. So he asked me to hang around awhile."

"I told Sam that won't ever happen again." Dean said quietly, hurt but trying not to show it.

"Yes, but you've said that before too. It's okay. Sam doesn't blame you. He just thinks you're a little … defenseless around John."

"How do I prove to him that I'm not?"

Billy studied the younger boy. "Don't know. You'd have to ask him."

"Well, can I? Ask him, I mean?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's my job to look out for Sam, and I'm not willing to take the chance."

Dean started to reply, but Steven held up a hand. He leaned forward. "So you're actively preventing Sam from communicating with Dean right now because you're afraid John will persuade Dean to hand Sam over?"

Billy shrugged. "I'll do whatever I have to do to keep Sam safe."

"Does Sam want to be kept apart from Dean?"

"Probably not, but it's not his decision to make."

Steven considered this. "What about Bobby. Do you trust Bobby to keep Sam safe?"

Billy nodded. "Bobby would do what he had to do if John showed up."

"So would I!" Dean protested.

Billy pinned Dean with a cold stare. "I was there that night in Albany, Dean. I saw what you did. I saw what Dad talked you into doing. Sam isn't angry with you so I'm not going to be angry with you either, but your priorities aren't aligned with what's best for our brother. If you think they are, you're just kidding yourself."

"Sammy …" Dean pleaded, his voice hitching.

"I need a beer." Billy said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Why are you avoiding talking to Dean about his feelings, Billy?"

Billy sighed, "Because I know what I know, okay?" He turned to Dean. "You really feel you're capable of protecting Sam from his father? Honestly?"

Dean nodded. "Hell yeah."

"Yeah? Well then, big talk … prove it."

Billy closed his eyes, and Steven and Dean watched as his face went through a series of transformations. When he opened them again, he wore a dark scowl and his posture had changed.

The three regarded each other warily.

"I'm Dr. Steven whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

Billy regarded the man silently for a moment, then seemed to make up his mind. He leaned forward and reached out a hand. "John Winchester."

Steven smiled professionally after a moment, accepting the hand and shaking it firmly. "Mr. Winchester. It's nice to meet you. You're Sam's father, am I right?"

John nodded. "I am."

"What brings you to our session today?"

John glanced around the room, his eyes lingering on Dean. "I thought I better show up to defend myself before I ended up on the wrong side of a jail cell. These boys are telling lies about me."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I heard them. Sam's accused me of abusing him from the time he was five. It's not true. Anything I did, it was discipline, not abuse."

"I see. Would you like to talk about it?"

John snorted. "I just did."

Steven nodded, refusing to be intimidated. "Well, why don't you share your disciplinary techniques with us so you'll have proof in case this ever goes to court? This session is being videotaped right over there, see?"

John looked and nodded.

"Can you tell me about a time that Sam disobeyed and you had to discipline him?"

John thought back. "Okay. Sure. One time when he was eight, I caught him cleaning a loaded weapon. He was too lazy to take the bullets out before he began breaking it down. Do you realize how that could have ended?"

Steven nodded. "Of course. Sam could have hurt himself or someone else."

"Exactly. So he needed a reminder never to do it again."

"Did you hit him that time, Mr. Winchester?"

John shook his head. "Of course not. I took the gun from him."

"And then what?"

"And then I took out all the rounds but one."

Steven visibly paled. "And why did you leave the one?"

"So he could see what it felt like to have a loaded weapon pointed at him."

"Did you point it at him?"

John nodded. "I spun the chamber and pointed it at his face."

"And how did your eight-year-old son react when you pointed a loaded gun at his face?" Steven was a professional, but he had to struggle to keep his anger in check at this alter.

"He whined a little. But then when I pulled the trigger, he pissed his pants." John grimaced. "Made a hell of a mess."

Steven stared at the man sitting before him and tried not to show emotion. The man's posture, his facial expressions, his arrogant attitude - none of them had anything in common with his young patient.

"I see. And do you think that was fitting punishment?"

John grinned, "Well the little bastard never did it again."

"So let me ask you this then. What if you had shot your son that day?"

"Odds were one in six. I wasn't gonna shoot him. If he'd been using his head, he'd have realized it too."

"One is six is pretty low odds."

John shrugged. "He's still here, isn't he? Still whining on and on about his crappy childhood."

Steven nodded. "So if I took a gun right now and loaded a single bullet in the chamber and pointed it at you, you'd feel safe?"

"I'd probably kick your ass."

Steven sat back, thinking. "Can you give us another example?"

John sighed. "No, I really can't. I'm just here to take Sam home. Are we finished here?" He stood up.

Steven shot up from his chair, alarmed. "No, we're not done. Sit back down, please."

Dean moved surreptitiously toward the door, placing himself between it and his brother.

"Screw you, doc. And you too, Dean. I'm taking my son and leaving. If you think you can stop me, be my guest." He turned to Dean. "Get out of my way."

Dean shook his head. "Sammy. Can you hear me? I need you to come back now."

John rolled his eyes. "I think the crazy in this family must be catching. Better watch out doc, or you'll be next."

"Mr. Winchester, I need you to sit down, now!"

"I said move, Dean. Or I'll move you."

"Sammy. Come on. It's me."

Steven punched in three numbers on his phone. "This is Doctor Bright. I need security here right away."

"I'm not saying it again, Dean."

"I'm not letting you leave this room with Sam, Dad. Not gonna happen."

John made his decision. "Fine, then. This is on you, Dean." And instead of pushing his way forcefully past his son, John turned instead and strode purposefully into the private bathroom that took up a corner of the doctor's office. He slammed the door and bolted it.

Dean and Steven exchanged horrified glances as they heard the sound of glass breaking.

"The mirror!" Steven cried.

"Shit!" Dean echoed, moving to the door and throwing his shoulder into it. "Open this damned door or I'm breaking it down!"

Steven fumbled in his drawer for the key, but before he could get it to Dean, both men heard Sam cry out in pain. "Dad! Stop it! Please!"

"Sammy!" Dean cried, desperately, kicking the door forcefully.

"Dad! Stop it! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry! I won't … won't do it again! Dean!"

"Sammy! Hang on, okay? Unlock the door! Can you unlock the door?"

But suddenly, it was silent inside the bathroom, and Steven handed the key off to Dean who took it with trembling hands.

Two security guards barreled into the room just as Dean got the lock disengaged and pushed the door open.

"Sammy!"


	37. Headache

Dean noticed the blood first. It was everywhere - on the shattered mirror, dripping down the center of Sam's face, trailing down his neck and over his shirt. The floor was puddled with it. Sam's arms bore rivulets of it.

"Shit, Sam! What happened?" Dean exploded, falling to his knees in front of his brother's huddled form. Sam sat in the corner farthest from the door, cringing between the pedestal sink and the back wall. He sobbed desperately, his voice hysterical.

D-Dean! Dean!"

Dean heard the doctor swear behind him, felt him crowd into the space to examine the boy who huddled cringing in the corner. "I think he's okay. I think it's just a head wound." Steven decided, motioning to one of the security guards. "I need whoever's on call up here right away."

Dean grabbed the hand towel off the towel ring and folded it into a compress. He pressed it gently to the middle of his brother's forehead.

"What the hell happened in here, Sam?" He barked, too scared to mince words.

Sam locked miserable eyes on his brother and shook his head. "Dad, hurt … hurted me again." He whispered sadly.

"What?" Dean snapped, unable to make out his brother's words as he checked the younger boy's forehead for pieces of embedded glass.

Sam's thumb found his mouth and he leaned into his brother's chest heavily, sighing, his breath hitching.

Dean frowned, "Sam, what? What are you …?" But then he saw his brother with a thumb tucked firmly in his mouth and he swore softly.

"Oh, no, Sammy. Oh shit. Why's it have to be you?"

Sam continued to cry softly into his brother's jacket. "My head hurts, Dean. Hurts bad!"

Dean's arms wrapped firmly around the oversized 5-year-old and held him tight, rocking them both gently."Shh. It's okay, buddy. It's gonna be okay. I got you now."

"Wh-why does D-dad hurt me so m-much? I t-try to be good, D-Dean. Honest!"

Dean's eyes teared up, spilling over. "Shh. This isn't your fault, you hear me? I'm here now, and I see what's going on, okay? I won't let it happen again."

"Can you take me wif you, Dean? Please? Wanna come wif you." Sam's arms slipped around Dean's waist in a death grip. "Please?"

"Yeah, Sammy. Of course I can. You're coming with me as soon as the doctor takes a look at your head, okay? Dean looked up at the arrival of the doctor on call and loosened his grip on the younger boy. "She's here, Sammy, okay? The doctor's here. I need you to be brave and let her look at your forehead now. Then we'll go home to Bobby's okay?"

Sam sniffed, pulling away. He turned his head toward the two doctors who stood in the doorway. The medical doctor was unfamiliar, but she smiled gently and knelt down to Sam's level. "So it's Sammy, is it?" She asked, her eyes assessing his injury. "How old are you, Sammy."

Sam sniffed. "I'm five."

She smiled again. "What happened to your head, Sammy?"

Sam's lips drew together in a thin line and he shook his head, wincing "I falled down."

"You did, hunh? Well, can you come out here and lie down on the couch for me, so I can look at your wound? Then I'll get you something to make the hurt go away, okay?"

"Can Dean come too?" Sam hesitated, leaning back into his brother.

"Of course he can." The doctor smiled, holding out her gloved hand. "Now come on out here where the light's better and I can see. I'm too old to be doctoring up five-year-olds in dark bathrooms."

Sam giggled. "You're not old. You're pretty.

"You think so, hunh? Well, you're pretty handsome yourself there, Sammy. Now lie back, okay?" She guided him to the couch and pressed him gently back until he was lying half on it with his feet still on the floor.

She made fast work of his wound, cleaning it gently and taping a clean bandage in place. "There. Now you're all good as new. Bet you have a headache though, hunh?"

Sam nodded sleepily. "Kinda."

She smiled, "Okay. Well, I have a pill right here for you. You take this and you'll feel better. I promise."

Sam looked at the large pill she tipped into his hand as his eyes widened. "It's too big." He exclaimed. "Dean, crush it for me?"

But the doctor was patient. She took the pill from his hand, "It's not that big, Sammy. I'll help you. Now I'm going to place the pill on your tongue and all you have to do is take a big drink of this water and swallow. Think you can do that for me?"

Sam nodded, hesitant.

But the doctor smiled confidently, placed the pill on Sam's tongue and handed him the bottle. He immediately took a long drink, swallowing hard several times. Then he smiled. "It went down! I swallowed it! Dean! I did it!"

Dean smiled, "Good job, Sammy. I knew you could."

"Okay, so I'm going to talk with your brother and Dr. Bright now, Sammy. So I want you lie here and rest. And as soon as we're done, your brother will take you home. Sound good?"

Sam nodded, already drifting. "Ben …" He mumbled once and closed his eyes.


	38. Acceptance

"Dean, I feel I have to apologize. I mishandled this situation badly."

Dean looked up from his study of Sam resting quietly on the physician's sofa. "What?"

Steven sat down with a sigh, resting his elbows on his desk. "I'm … out of my league with Sam."

Dean frowned. "What's that mean? You can't just give up on him?"

"No. No, of course not. But I can refer you to someone who's better suited to help him - someone with more experience in childhood trauma and DID. I'm afraid I may have caused more damage here today than assistance. When John appeared and shared his "methods" of correcting Sam … well, I shouldn't have reacted with emotion. Your brother is very convincing."

Dean snorted, "You have no idea."

"The point is, all of Sam's alters need to feel loved and cherished, even John. What he needed from me today was acceptance, not … revulsion."

Dean looked confused, "How?"

"The same way you love Liz - unconditionally. When an abusive alter like this appears, it's important to let him or her know that you understand. You might not agree with why they say and do the things they say and do, but you do need to make it known that you're accepting of them. We need to set the example for Sam so that he understands how to love and accept himself and every manifestation."

Dean rubbed a frustrated hand across his face, shaking his head. "I don't know how to do that, Doc - how to accept that Sam feels the need to hurt himself over and over. That's why we need you. You're supposed to tell us what to do."

Steven sighed. "I know. That's why I'm going to make a few phone calls and put you in touch with someone who can do a better job of it than I've done. Sam's case is fascinating. And I'd love to keep him on just from the research aspect alone, but that wouldn't be fair to him or to you. He needs to see someone with more experience in this area."

Dean stared, "So what now?"

"Now, you wake him up and take him home. Make a follow-up with your family physician for his injury, and wait for my call. I'll get back to you tomorrow at the latest. And then we'll have a definite plan, okay? We're going to find Sam the help he needs, I promise. I just need a day to find it."

Dean blinked. He dreaded waking Sam - dreaded which version of him would be staring back.

Steven studied him, "You know, admission to a good facility is always an option, Dean. That's what these places are for - to help families when they feel like they've reached the ends of their ropes. They'd take good care of Sam. Nothing bad would happen to him there. He'd be safe, and you'd have the peace of mind knowing he was getting help 24/7."

Dean stood, shaking his head. "Sam's been my responsibility since I was four years old, and I let him down. It's not going to happen again. He stays with me. I'm not leaving him somewhere and walking away because it'd be easier on me. Sam needs his family - needs me and Bobby more than ever right now - and we're damn well gonna be there for him."

Steven smiled and nodded. "Just keep it in the back of your mind, Dean. You and Sam and Bobby - you're not in this all alone. There are people willing to help."

Dean nodded and moved to wake his brother. He stood looking down at the tall teen who slept peacefully on the sofa with a thumb tucked firmly in his mouth and his hair falling in a haphazard tangle around his face. Sam's hair was longer now - still blond but with dark roots - and he looked more like a boy-band wannabe than ever. Dean smiled and crouched down beside him. He stroked his arm gently.

"Hey, to wake up. It's time to go." He watched Sam's face carefully for a reaction.

"Sam? Come on, buddy. We have to go now. Wake up for me, okay?" He smiled as Sam's eyes fluttered open and fixed on him.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam. You awake? It's time to get off the doc's couch, hunh? Get you home."

"Okay." Sam sat up sleepily. "I'm sleepy." He rubbed both eyes with his fists and yawned. "Why'm I so tired, Dean?" His face crumpled like he was about to cry in frustration.

Dean smiled his special smile and ruffled his brother's hair. "Hey now. None of that cryin' stuff, okay? Bobby's back home waitin' on us, and we gotta pick up supper. You don't wanna make Bobby wait on us when he's expectin' supper, do you?"

Sam's eyes teared, but he shook his head stoically, thumb finding his mouth.

"Come on. You can nap in the car, okay?"

Sam nodded silently, allowing Dean to pull him to his feet.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Can we get ice cream?"

###

"So what happened to his face?" Bobby asked later, leading Dean into the living room as Sam sat happily on the porch with a bowl of ice cream topped with candy pieces and chocolate syrup. He kicked his feet in rhythm with the country music that drifted through the kitchen window from the radio over the fridge.

Dean sighed. "Dad happened."

Bobby's eyes widened.

"No, not real Dad. Sam's version of him. He locked Sam in the bathroom at the doc's office and smashed his head into the mirror."

"Balls!"

Dean looked away, struggling to speak, and Bobby clapped a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Just breathe, kid. One hour at a time. That's all we can do."

"He just … he keeps hurting himself, Bobby." Dean's voice hitched. "I just … I can't predict it. Can't get out ahead of it. I feel … helpless. Doc wants to lock him up for his own protection, and I can't help but feel maybe he's … he's right. I wanna keep Sam with me, but what if I'm just being selfish, and he ends up hurt or worse?"

Bobby shook his head. "Ain't nothing gonna happen to your brother while you and I are here, Dean. You know that. The boy needs to be with us, not strangers. Now come on. Suck it up and let's go sit with him a spell. Cheer us both up."

Dean nodded, swiping his face with the back of a sleeve as the two men retreated to the porch and Sam.

"So how is it, boy?" Bobby asked as he ruffled Sam's hair in passing.

Sam grinned up at him, "It's real good, Uncle Bobby. Thanks for makin' it for me."

"Thank your brother. He's the one who bought the stuff."

"Thanks, Dean." Sam smiled, lighting up the whole yard. "Hey, next time can we get cherries for on top? You forgotted the cherries."

"Sure, Sam." Dean promised, taking a seat on the dusty steps and resting his head in his hands. A moment later, he felt a warm body settle down next to him - a shoulder brushing his own.

"You want some?" Sam asked, holding out his bowl.

Dean looked over and smiled at his brother's concerned expression. He took the bowl. "Sure, Sammy. Thanks." He took a bite of the quickly melting confection. "It's good, hunh?"

Sam nodded. "Whatsa matter, Dean? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Just not too hungry right now. Here, you finish it, okay?" Dean handed the bowl back.

Sam frowned, but took it. "Okay." he said, but sat holding it wordlessly, no longer eating.

"What's wrong, Sammy?"

"You look sad."

"Do I? It's just been a long day, I guess." Dean glanced away, eyes watering.

But Sam saw. He set the forgotten bowl quickly down on the porch and wrapped long arms around Dean's waist. He placed his head against the older boy's chest. "Don't be sad, Dean. Okay?" He asked. "Why are you sad?"

Dean hugged his brother back. "I'm okay, Sammy. I just …" Dean stopped, wanting to go on, but not sure that he should.

"What?"

Dean cleared his throat. "It makes me sad when … when Dad hurts you Sammy, you know?" He felt Sam's body tremble against him and wrapped the boy tighter. "I want to protect you from him, but I … I don't know how."

"I don't like it. Why's he always so mad at me? I try to be good."

"I know you do. You're a good kid, Sammy. It's not your fault. It's Dad's. He has no right to do what he does. You don't deserve it - any of it, but I'm not sure Dad can help it."

Sam pulled back and rested his head on Dean's knee. "Dad says I need it. He says I'm bad through and through."

Dean took a shuddering breath and ran a hand through his brother's hair. "What else does Dad say, Sammy?"

Sam sighed. "He says I'm weak." He replied in a small voice. "Weak and useless and I'm gonna … gonna …"

"What, Sam? Gonna what?"

"Gonna get you killed some day." He raised his head and looked at his brother, eyes hurt and watering. "I don't want to, Dean. I don't want you to die. I won't. I promise!"

Dean hugged him tight. "Don't worry. I know for a fact that's never gonna happen. Dad should never say that to you because it isn't true. But I think that maybe Dad is doing the best he can, you know? Do you think if we talk about the stuff he says and does that you could tell him we don't blame him?"

Sam pulled back and stared at his brother. "You think he's right to … to hurt me all the time?" He sniffed.

"Of course not. I just think that us blaming Dad for every mistake he makes maybe just makes him angrier. I think it makes him want to keep on hurting you. So maybe if we just accept that he's doing the best he can, then he'll feel better about things … happier maybe. What do you think?"

Sam shrugged.

"So tell me something else that Dad says that … that makes you feel bad."

"Well, sometimes he says everybody wished it was me that died in the fire 'stead of Mom." Sam's thumb found its way to his mouth.

Dean swallowed hard, "Okay, so you know that's not true, right? I don't wish that. Bobby doesn't wish that. And you know what else, Sammy? I don't think Dad means it when he says that either. I think he's just angry or maybe had too much to drink to make him say stuff like that. You know how sometimes when you get really, really mad, you say things you don't mean?"

Sam shook his head.

"Like … like that time I wouldn't let you go swimming in that really crusty stream out behind that motel in Arizona? Remember you got so mad you said you hated me? Now you don't really hate me, do you?"

Sam's eyes watered, but he shook his head no.

"So, that's why Dad says things that hurt sometimes. Can you think of another time that Dad said something that hurt your feelings?"

Sam shook his head.

"None at all?"

"No, but he tied my hands together one time and hung me by them in a barn. I had to stay like that til you got home from school. That hurted bad."

Dean swore, exchanging a haunted look with Bobby. He cleared his throat. "Why'd he do that, Sammy?"

"Cause he was tired, and I wouldn't sit still and watch the TV. It was a 'trol lesson."

"A troll lesson?"

"Yeah, you know … a lesson to help me learn to 'trol myself."

Dean blinked back tears, careful not to criticize the man who'd treated a little boy so cruelly but unable to continue defending him either. He pulled Sam's head into his chest and stroked his hair gently. "Not your fault, Sammy. Not your fault."

Dean stared out across the yard as twilight softly fell. He held his brother tight and tried to convince himself that the boy was finally safe, but somehow, he just couldn't quite make himself believe it.


	39. Letters

Sammy stayed with Dean and Bobby for another three days, until one night after dinner, Sammy galloped up the stairs, and Sam traipsed back down them, laptop in hand, and poured himself a cup of coffee, joining the other two hunters at the table.

"So I've been researching." Sam said in a normal voice, eyeing his brother somewhat hesitantly.

Dean stared, trying to acclimate to the change in personas.

"Dean? Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, Sam. What? What did you say?"

Sam nodded to the laptop, "Research. I think I understand now."

Bobby sat down, "Think I'm gettin' whiplash." He grumbled, staring at Sam.

"So, how many of … of me … have the two of you met so far?" The younger boy asked somewhat sheepishly.

The two older men exchanged looks. "Well, there's Sammy." Bobby started.

"And Liz." Dean added.

"John and Billy. I think that's it, right, Dean?"

The older boy nodded. "Think so. Why? What are you onto, Sam?"

"So, four?"

Dean nodded.

"So, that might not be all." Sam said, "But then again, it might."

"Liz said there were others. She didn't say how many."

Sam sighed and glanced around the table. "So, I have to learn how to accept each one .. to love each one, but I'm not sure how to do it. Journaling, art, and music are supposed to help."

Dean nodded."You could read back over a journal, right? See what your alters are thinking?"

Sam shrugged, "I guess. I'm supposed to write letters to them."

Dean saw his brother's frustration. "What's wrong, Sammy?"

Sam slammed the laptop closed, and looked away, throat working convulsively. He shook his head.

Dean and Bobby exchanged worried glances.

"It's just gonna take some time, son." Bobby offered sympathetically. "But you know we're here for you."

Sam nodded, swallowing hard, "I just feel so confused. I feel like I've been away or something."

Dean considered that. "Well, you kind of have, Sam. You've been Sammy for the last few days."

Sam's head snapped up. "What?"

"I … uh ... brought you home from the doc's office as Sammy. That was Monday."

"What's today?"

"Friday."

Sam stared, "Oh."

Dean smiled sympathetically. "So, these letters … what are you supposed to say?"

Sam tried to smile back, "I'm supposed to be honest - talk about how I feel without being accusatory. The research says it's okay to be angry but to try not to be mean." He bit his lip. "Do you … uh … think you could help me write one? Maybe to Sammy? You'd probably have to read it to him when he … you know … stops by. What should I say?"

Dean stood up and refreshed his cup of coffee. Then he scooted his chair next to Sam's and sat thinking.

"How do you feel about Sammy?" Sam suddenly asked Dean.

Dean smiled automatically. "He's adorkable."

Sam smiled and began writing.

" _Dear Sammy, You're adorkable."_

"What else?"

"Well, he's just like you were when you were five. He loves that old ratty bear. Eats ice cream til he's sick and is scared shitless of Dad." Dean informed his brother.

Sam nodded, thinking.

" _I don't really remember you all that well, but Dean tells me you have my old stuffed bear and that you like ice cream. He also says you're scared of Dad. That's okay, Sammy. You're five. I'm sixteen, and I'm still scared of Dad."_

Suddenly Sam bent over his laptop and began typing away steadily, biting his lip in concentration.

" _I wanted to tell you that it's okay to be scared sometimes, especially when Dad says and does hurtful things to you. He's done those same things to me all my life, and I know how you feel when you think about him. You get this sick feeling in your tummy, like you might throw up. Dad shouldn't hurt you, but I don't think he knows that. I think there's just something wrong with him - something that happened when Mom died - and I don't think he can really help the things he does. But that doesn't mean he has the right to keep hurting you. I wanted to tell you that the next time Dad comes out and scares you, that you can come get me, okay? I'm a lot bigger and stronger than you, and I'll protect you if you'll let me._

 _I love you, Sammy. And I'll do everything I can to keep you safe._

 _Love,_

 _Sam"_

He looked up and grinned at Dean and Bobby. It was a genuine expression of happiness, and the older hunters both recognized it immediately.

That was the day Sam's shattered heart began pulling itself back together.


	40. The High Cost of Being Normal

_Dear Billy,_

 _So I heard through the crazyvine that you hate me. That's okay, you dumb son of a bitch because I hate you back more. I think you have a lot of nerve to try and turn Dean against me just because you're jealous or whatever. And I wanted you to know it won't work._

 _Dean likes me. He told me so. So whatever damned lies you're coming up with - none of them matter. All Dean sees is me, and he likes what he sees. So I wanted to tell you to shut the fuck up. Nobody wants to hear what you have to say. Got it?_

 _Fuck off, loser,_

 _Liz_

 _###_

 _Dear Sam,_

 _Dean said he'd write me this letter to give you. I gotted your last letter. Thank you._

 _Sammy_

 _###_

 _Dear Sammy,_

 _Thank you for your letter. I hope you're feeling okay today. Dean says you came to visit yesterday and cried when you couldn't find Ben. I'm sorry, Sammy. I put him on the top shelf of the closet by accident so nothing bad would happen to him, and I forgot to get him back down where you could reach him. So I wanted to tell you that from now on, I'll leave him on the bed for you where you'll always be able to find him._

 _Love, Sam_

 _P.S. There's more ice cream in the freezer. Dean remembered the cherries this time._

 _###_

 _Dear Sam,_

 _Those cherries were soooooo good. Oh, sorry. Were they for Sammy? I sort of used them all. Dean was sitting across from me at table, and I just couldn't resist teasing him. Hope the little whiny-ass midget doesn't go bawling all over the place. If he does, tell him there's a jar of olives in Bobby's cupboard. Maybe the little shit could put those on his ice cream. Oh yeah, and you should tell him he's going to get fat as a cow._

 _Love,_

 _Liz_

 _###_

 _Dear Liz,_

 _It's okay that you ate the cherries. They're for you too. I'm not mad, and I'm sure Sammy won't be either._

 _Love, Sam_

 _P.S. Maybe we can have pizza night to use up the olives._

 _###_

 _Sam,_

 _Liz ated all my cherries. I'm mad._

 _Sammy_

 _###_

 _Dear Sammy,_

 _I had Dean hide a second jar of cherries just for you. Ask him where. Try not to be mad at Liz. She's hungrier than most._

 _Love, Sam_

 _###_

 _Liz,_

 _You're a pathetic waste of human space. If I ever catch you hurting Sam again, you'll be sorry. Also, I don't give a single shit what you think of me. And if you think Dean likes you, you're insane. Dean doesn't do crazy._

 _Billy_

 _###_

 _Dean would do me in a heartbeat if it wasn't for that little shit, Sam. Next time I want to hurt him, bitch, I'll do it up good. Just try and stop me, asshole._

 _###_

 _Dear Liz,_

 _I don't know why you dislike me so intensely, but I wanted to let you know that I'm not angry that you cut my wrist yesterday. I understand that you've had a hard time of it, and I'm willing to listen if you ever need to talk. I don't dislike you, Liz. Dean doesn't dislike you either. He just said those things because he got scared when you showed him what you'd done to me. He wanted me to tell you that he's sorry. And that if you ever feel like hurting me again, he's available to talk about it beforehand to try and help._

 _Love, Sam_

 _###_

 _You're a pathetic excuse for a son, Sam, letting a girl manhandle you that way. Something like that would never happen to your brother. Man up and grow a pair. You embarrass me, boy._

 _###_

 _Dad,_

 _I'm sorry that I embarrass you, but I like who I am and what I've become. I'm sorry that you're so angry with me, but I'm not angry with you. I know you're doing the best you can. I love you, Dad._

 _Sam_

 _###_

 _Sam! Help! I'm really scared right now. Dean let me sit on his lap while he writed this. Dad was here and he said I was pathetic. I'm not pathetic, Sam! I'm not! What's pathetic?_

 _###_

 _Dear Sammy,_

 _Thank you so much for asking for me when Dad scared you so badly. I'm glad Dean was there to help you feel better. You're not pathetic. Pathetic is someone who is beyond help, and none of us are that. I think Dad used the wrong word. Maybe he meant to say you were prodigious. Ask Dean what that means because you are._

 _Love you, Sam_

 _###_

 _You really aren't mad? Cause I was thinking about cutting the other one too. Maybe I'll do that tonight. Watch your back, Sam._

 _###_

 _I told Dean what you're planning, you crazy bitch. Ask him how much he likes you now._

 _###_

 _Fuck you, Billy. Mind your own fucking business._

 _###_

 _So, last night I had a dream, and I actually remembered it so I decided to write it down here. It was me and Dad, and we were sitting in a boat. I was fishing, and Dad was talking about Dean. For once he wasn't comparing us. He was just talking like a normal father would talk about his sons. He mentioned giving Dean the car when he turns sixteen. And then he looked at me and actually smiled. There was no meanness in his eyes - no blame. Just a father smiling at his son._

 _I think this might have been a memory, but I'm not sure. I'll ask Dean what he thinks._

 _I'm feeling a little bit better toward Dad today, after having that dream. I remember he was kind once. One time he actually cared about us. And I'm going to try to hold on to that dream and the feeling it gave me for as long as I can._

 _I feel weird today, sort of - I think I feel loved. It's weird. I'm not sure what to do with it._

 _###_

 _I read this, Sam. You're such a sucker. Probably not a memory - just a pipe dream. I can't remember a single time that Dad treated you like that, and I've been here for a while. He never looked at you without hatred and disgust in his eyes, and he always, always liked Dean better._

 _You're a fool._

 _###_

 _Shut up and let the kid have a memory, you whore. You're a horrible, horrible person, Liz. I hope you get what's coming to you someday._

 _###_

 _Think you're man enough to give it to me, baby? I don't._

 _###_

 _So, I'm writing this from the hospital. I really don't see the sense in continuing on with this journal, but Dr. Vens was in, and she asked me to keep on, so I guess I will._

 _I don't really remember what happened, but I woke up in an ambulance with Dean incoherent beside me. My neck hurts, and it's still a little hard to breathe._

 _Dean said he found me on the bed with a tie around my neck. I don't remember doing it._

 _I'm the batshit crazy brother._

 _###_

 _See what happens to little boys who refuse to grow up and become men, Sam? If you let a woman push you around like that, this is the sort of thing that's bound to happen. She should have finished the job and set your brother and Bobby free. You think they deserve this? All this - craziness you're putting them through? They're going to end up hating you just as much as I hate you. Where will you go then? When Bobby washes his hands of you? You know it's coming. You're a millstone, Sam. And you're drowning them both in your damned self-pity. I don't know how I ever raised a kid like you. You're nothing but an embarrassment to me and to Dean. I wished you'd died in that fire, instead of Mary. If she was here, today, she'd say the same._

 _###_

 _Please don't say things like that, Dad. When you say these hateful things to me, it makes me question my worth, and I'm not worthless. I'm not! Dean and Bobby let me stay because they love me. That's all. That's all there is to it. It's not out of pity or a sense of responsibility. It's because they love me, and they want to see me get better._

 _I don't hate you anymore, Dad. Not since my dream. I think you're just a regular guy in irregular circumstances, and you're trying the best you can. I don't blame you anymore, Dad. I'm done with looking back and trying to figure out why. What happened, happened. It's over. It was a loss, and I'm dealing with it. But I refuse to keep torturing myself by wondering what I did to deserve it._

 _Nothing. I did nothing to deserve it. It wasn't my fault. And I know that Mom is looking down on me and hoping I get better too. Mom could never hate me, Dad. No matter what you say - she couldn't. She wouldn't._

 _###_

 _Dean brought me a book today. It's about how art is supposed to be a creative outlet for people like me. He brought me a sketchpad too, and pencils. I don't quite see how drawing pictures is supposed to help me work through my feelings, but Doc Vens seems excited about the idea too._

 _People like me. Are there any other people like me out there? I doubt it._

 _###_

 _You could draw Dean nude. Ask him, baby. I bet he'd let you._

 _###_

 _You are such a pig. They're brothers. What the fuck is wrong with you?_

 _###_

 _Dear Billy,_

 _I would like to ask you to stop being so harsh with Liz. I think she tries. I really do. She's just … you know … had a rough time of things, just like me. Please don't judge her so cruelly. I don't like it when she hurts me, but maybe if we're kind, she'll respond in like?_

 _Love, Sam_

 _###_

 _How'd that feel, Sam? You like that? Still think I'm kind? HA HA HA! Did you see the look on Bobby's face when your hand went into the boiling water? Priceless! Oh yeah - sorry I ruined dinner. NOT!_

 _###_

 _Si im typing this weith my left hand. Dean offered to help, but somehow, i feel like i need to do it like this. After the incident with the spaghetti pot, doc vens wouldnt let me leave the hospital. She has liz uner suicide watch. Which means she has me uner suicide watch. I should feel bad, but doc says it might actually be a sign that liz knows she'll be leaving soon and is acting out becaude shes scared. Soi maybe theres a reason to hope._

 _I feel so bad for dean. The spaghetti was his idea._

 _###_

 _So Doc put me onto voice-to-text and it's made journaling with a bum right hand a whole lot easier. I'm still under watch and not allowed to leave the hospital. Doc comes and gets me for therapy every day, and we talk about this journal. Sometimes I read excerpts from it._

 _She was happy with my dream, interpreting it the same way I did - that maybe I'm finally finding forgiveness and learning to let go of all the losses that made up my childhood. I feel cheated. That's a truth. But I'm alive and I'm free and I'm able to make my own healthy choices now, so I can change my present if I want._

 _I think Dean is sleeping in the parking lot in his car. Every day he comes and looks more and more rumpled. I'm worried about him. What if he has a breakdown? Dean is the only thing keeping me going. Well, and Bobby too. But if anything happens to them?_

 _That thought scares me._

 _###_

 _I don't know how much longer I can live institutionalized like this. Of course, nobody calls it that, but that's what it is. My room is locked at all times. I need permission to see Dean and Bobby, and then only on certain days. They watch me eat. They watch me sleep. They watch me take a damned piss. I'm on total lock-down because of something Liz did or said to one of the nurses. Nobody will tell me what happened for sure, but I woke up in a straitjacket with blood drying under my fingernails. Doc Vens hasn't been to see me in three days._

 _I have to get out of this place before I smother. Dean … where the hell are you?_

 _###_

 _Just when I thought everything had gone to hell, Doc Vens tells me I'm being released. Apparently, there was an investigation into whatever happened with Liz and the nurse, and they found out that the nurse had been abusing patients for years. Doc thinks Liz was trying to defend me, and if she's right, then that means she's turned the corner from hating me to caring about me for real. This is the first big step toward integration, and the doc is excited._

 _I'm waiting to see how it all plays out before I celebrate anything. Also, I miss Sammy. I realize that he finally integrated, which was what we wanted all along, but losing Sammy is a high cost for being normal, I think. I hope he's finally happy and unafraid, and I spend a lot of time visualizing him sitting on Bobby's porch swing with a big bowl of ice cream and that floppy, tattered bear. In my mind, he's flanked on both sides by guardian angels, and they're holding a protective shield over him._

 _Be happy, Sammy. Be at rest. I love you._

 _###_

 _That bitch had her hand down your pants, Sam. How could you forget something like that? Anyway, I showed her who we belong to, didn't I?_

 _###_

 _I'm sitting on Bobby's couch. It's late, and everyone is in bed. I couldn't sleep, so I decided to draw for a bit. But then, I felt the need to write my thoughts down. This journal is everything to me. In it, I can meet and talk with the others who live inside of me. Damn, I know that sounds crazy, but it's true. I never was much of an artist, but writing just seems to come natural._

 _Doc has been real encouraging about the progress I'm making, and I think she credits it mostly to this journal and to my visualizing exercises. Billy hasn't been around in weeks, and it's rare that Liz makes an appearance anymore, or Dad either. I hope this means I'm close to being cured, or at least to being able to manage my disease._

 _I haven't had any blackouts in about six weeks, which is probably the longest I've ever gone without waking up in a strange place or with people treating me oddly. Life feels continuous these days, instead of choppy. I've learned how to come to terms with the loss of my childhood - some people simply don't have that privilege, and I'm one of them. But the only thing stopping me from having a future is myself, and I'll be damned if I'll be the only thing standing in my own way._

 _I finally changed my hair back to the way it was intended to be. It was hard at first - looking at that boy who first attracted Ian Watts. It's hard for me to write his name, but Doc tells me to try. It's the first step in shaking his control over me. And I think back to Henry Senior High and to all the special attention he paid me, and I want to castigate myself for not seeing._

 _But I try not to. Just because I didn't recognize someone else's crazy - that doesn't make me an accomplice. For the longest time, I thought it did. But Doc tells me that's just more magical thinking - If I'd done this, maybe he wouldn't have done that. If I'd not come to class fresh from the shower, maybe he'd never have noticed me. If I'd sent him packing that first day in the hospital, maybe he would have seen my strength instead of my weakness._

 _But what happened would have happened regardless. I know that now. It was never my fault - not any of it. Not Dad, not Ian Watts, not those boys who beat me up in Silver City. Wrong place, wrong time is all it was._

 _And I can live with that. As long as I can remember to make myself believe, I can let go of the hatred that I feel toward myself. Doc tells me I'm not allowed to hate myself. I can accept and feel any other emotion, but self-hatred is off-limits. It's not allowed near me. And I visualize it as a person who looks a lot like Dad - he's beating his fists against an invisible barrier that surrounds me. The longer he fights against it, the thicker it becomes - pushing him farther and farther away all the time until I can no longer see or hear him._

 _I hope that one day, he just gives up and walks away._

 _And when he does, that's the day I'll finally be free._

 _-THE END-_

 _Thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing and adding this story to your favorite lists. It ended a long, long way from where it began, but I hope it held the line. Stayed tuned for the epilogue._


	41. Epilogue

Winnie found herself holding her breath as the bus pulled up at the Sioux Falls station. She noted the three strangers waiting there, and gave her small son a squeeze. The man in the battered ball cap seemed to be the father - the younger boys his two grown sons,. She was apprehensive yet relieved at the same time.

It had been a long journey.

Winnie's story had begun at the shelter in Albany the night she'd shown up barefoot and beaten on Lily Moone's doorstep, and it would end here today in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, its success reliant upon the three strangers who stood waiting to receive her and her son to safety.

Looking down at Mort, she smiled. "You ready, baby? Time to go."

The three-year-old nodded sleepily, smiling back around the pudgy thumb that was positioned firmly in his mouth.

Winnie rose painfully to her feet and cradled the boy on one hip, limping gracelessly to the front of the bus. At the bottom step, the nineteen-year-old lingered, wanting to trust the three men who waited patiently before her, but afraid at the same time. Then the youngest of the three stepped forward and shot her the most beautiful grin she'd ever seen.

"Hi, Winnie. I'm Sam." he said, "It's nice to meet you." In his hands he held a clean, but ravaged, teddy bear that looked well-loved. "And you must be Mort. Mort, this is Ben, and he's looking for a new home, just like you. Think you can help him?"

Mort smiled and reached for the toy. "Ben!" He crowed happily, clutching the bear to his chest. "I take him?"

Sam smiled, "You take him, Mort. He's been waiting for you."


End file.
